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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25532728">Watchpoint Drabbles</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/grovyrosegirl/pseuds/grovyrosegirl'>grovyrosegirl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Overwatch (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Archive warnings may be added later too depending on later content, Blood, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Discussions and Portrayals of Trauma, Fire, Gen, Implied Body Horror, Multi, Platonic and Romantic stuff, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The rating may possibly change depending on later works, Weapons, Will contain many ships, cursing, death mentions, more ships and characters to be added</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:35:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>26,055</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25532728</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/grovyrosegirl/pseuds/grovyrosegirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Overwatch drabbles from my Tumblr blog.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Emily/Lena "Tracer" Oxton, Genji Shimada/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Hanzo Shimada/Mei-Ling Zhou, Jean-Baptiste Augustin &amp; Sombra | Olivia Colomar, Jesse McCree/Mei-Ling Zhou, Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes &amp; Roadhog | Mako Rutledge, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Breakfast (MeiCree)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Brain:</b> So. We’re just throwing out canon right here, aren’t we?</p><p><b>Me:</b> Yep. </p><p><b>Brain:</b> Any particular reason? </p><p><b>Me:</b> Rarepairs being cute and eating breakfast gives me dopamine. </p><p><b>Brain:</b> Okay. </p><p>Jokes aside, the actual reason this was written is because this was a kissing prompt requested by anonymous. Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mei is awoken when rays of sunlight peek through the blinds of her on-base apartment’s bedroom window. The pockets of light become too irritating on her eyes and too warm on her cheek for her to simply turn over and return to slumber. So with a long yawn and a satisfying stretch that cracks her fingers and shoulders, Mei wakes up. The full-sized bed feels lighter than it did when she fell asleep. After a quick grab of her glasses on the nightstand, the empty, unmade other side of the bed becomes clear in her vision. It can only mean that Jesse is already awake.</p>
<p>Which is odd to Mei. Normally, Jesse and her wake up around the same time. He always gets up early to join Fareeha and Lena in an early morning jog before the daily Watchpoint briefings, while she usually needs extra time to set up in the lab. After cleaning up and getting dressed, they usually exchange swift hello’s and “Love you!”’s over quick breakfasts of cereal or granola bars before hurrying out the door and going their separate ways down the hallway. Something must’ve pulled him away. </p>
<p>She decides to wonder about it later as she stands up and slides her feet into the yeti slippers waiting for her at the foot of the bed. Already, she can feel the top strands of her hair sticking up where they’re not supposed to and knots in the lower layers. The bathroom and a hairbrush are her next destination and target. </p>
<p>That is until another odd occurrence catches her attention. When she reaches the door of her bedroom, her left hand instinctively reaches for Snowball’s charging port next to the door to wake the little drone. But her hand doesn’t touch the top of his smooth metal panel, instead it only moves awkwardly trying to clasp at open air. </p>
<p>Mei glances over and sees an empty charging port. Now that’s even more odd than Jesse’s disappearance. On the mornings where her shrill, holographic alarm clock isn’t enough to wake her, and Jesse isn’t around to gently shake her awake, Snowball is the one dispatching himself from the port to flutter around her and nudge her until she wakes up. </p>
<p>Come to think of it, Mei realizes, her alarm hasn’t gone off at all this morning.</p>
<p>Strange. Very strange. </p>
<p>She slowly opens the door, mentally starting to list a number of possible reasons that both Jesse and Snowball would be gone today. However, the list dissipates as fast as it began when, upon stepping into the living and kitchen area of the apartment, her senses are overwhelmed with the sweetest scents. She sniffs the air. Powdered sugar and...chocolate? Interesting. </p>
<p>Mei looks ahead and one mystery number is solved. There’s Jesse in the kitchen, at the stove. He’s still clad in pajamas made up of an old, worn rodeo t-shirt and flannel plaid pajama pants. In his flesh hand, he’s holding a spatula while his left, prosthetic hand holds the handle of a large pan. </p>
<p><i>“Well pick me up with golden hand, I may see you, I may tell you to run,”</i> Jesse sings a tune that Mei heard in a movie once. Both the song and the movie they’d watch weeks ago were older than even Reinhardt. Jesse whistles a part that’s too fast for him before tapping the spatula against the side of the pan in rhythm as he continues, <i>“Well, I would like to hold out my little hand...”</i> </p>
<p>As he carries on his improv musical cooking session, still unaware of her presence, Mei scans the room for Snowball. She spots the little drone hovering over towards Jesse. There’s a bottle of maple syrup being balanced on top of his panel. Mystery number two solved. </p>
<p>However, Snowball notices her right away. His little screen eyes blink into a cheerful emoticon. </p>
<p>“M-E-I!” Snowball whirs. </p>
<p>This draws Jesse’s attention away from the stove and finally alerts him to Mei. He turns his head, his song goes quiet, and he smiles. </p>
<p>“Hey you,” Jesse says, “good morning.” </p>
<p>Mei makes her way over, finding a comfortable position next to Jesse. She loosely clings to his left arm and rests her head on his shoulder. The view gives her a full look at the stove, as well as two empty plates sitting on the nearby counter.</p>
<p>“Good morning,” she says, looking down at the pan. There’s a perfect circle of pancake batter filling it, with chocolate chips sprinkled about, floating in the batter like tiny islands in a sweet ocean. “You didn’t need to make breakfast for me.” </p>
<p>“Can’t go wrong with chocolate chip pancakes. Plus, Snowball <i>insisted</i>, and how can I say no to that face?” He takes another glance at her, focusing on the wavy mess of strands now sitting on his shoulder, and chuckles, “Nice hair.”</p>
<p>“Nice pants,” Mei playfully shoots back. “Plaid will definitely come back into style someday.”</p>
<p>Snowball makes his way over and delivers the maple syrup to Jesse. He grabs it with his free hand and places it aside on the counter next to the plates. His other arm shifts, signaling Mei to let go and move off of him as he now needs that arm to flip the pancake. Mei turns around and leans against the counter, lifting her arm to let Snowball hover to her and snuggle close to her. She gives the little drone a pet to his head.</p>
<p>“Sleep good, darling?” Jesse then asks. </p>
<p>Mei nods, “Like a baby. But,” she tilts her head suspiciously, “my alarm didn’t go off. I don’t suppose you had something to do with that?”</p>
<p>“I was going to surprise you, but I forgot you’re still a natural morning person. Besides, you were up late last night,” he nonchalantly answers. “Thought you could use the extra sleep.”</p>
<p>“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it,” Mei says, scooting around Jesse to walk over to the fridge. She opens it and looks around for a bottle of water, “But I hope Winston and Sojourn won’t be angry if we’re late to the briefing.”</p>
<p>She grabs the drink and closes the fridge. Upon turning back around, however, Mei is met with Jesse giving her the strangest look. His arms are folded, the spatula sticking out, and his voice is firm. </p>
<p>“Mei-Ling Zhou,” he says, “did you forget we have the day off today?” </p>
<p>Ah. Well. That explains it. Mystery number three solved. </p>
<p>She sheepishly grins, “I guess I did.”</p>
<p>Jesse laughs and turns his attention back to the stove, “Oh yeah. You <i>definitely</i> needed the extra sleep.” </p>
<p>Mei rolls her eyes and rejoins him at the counter. </p>
<p>“A day off,” she repeats as she opens the bottle’s cap. “We haven’t had one of those in a while. What should we do today?”</p>
<p>Jesse finishes the first pancake. A fluffy masterpiece brimming with the sweet scent of melted chocolate is lifted off the pan with the spatula and delivered to the first empty plate. </p>
<p>“Good question,” he says. “Maybe a nice stroll on the beach? Or we could head into town and see what’s on the market. Hell, I’d be fine with just flopping down on the couch and spending the whole day watching mindless holovids with you.”</p>
<p>Mei giggles and replies after taking a sip of her water, “Decisions, decisions. I know how I’m going to start my day off, though.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” He turns around to face her fully, “And what’s that?”</p>
<p>Mei places the water aside, steps forward, and leans into him. She wraps her arms around his shoulders. Jesse smiles and wraps his own arms around her waist, holding her comfortably close. It’s here that Mei notices a smudge of powdered sugar on his cheek. She moves one hand and quickly wipes it off with her thumb. </p>
<p>“Kissing the chef,” she says. She then cups his cheek with the same hand and moves to press her lips to his. </p>
<p>Jesse happily accepts. They stay locked together for a near minute. Snowball’s chirps of surprise and his immediate hover away to give them space doesn’t sway them in the slightest. </p>
<p>Finally, they pull away. </p>
<p>“The chef greatly appreciates it,” says Jesse.  </p>
<p>He plants a quick peck of his lips to her forehead and lets her go. Mei laughs softly and moves to grab the nearby bag of chocolate chips. As Jesse returns to pouring the next batch into the pan, Mei plucks a single chocolate chip and pops it into her mouth. </p>
<p>Sweet, she thinks. Very sweet. And it’s not about the chocolate.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello everyone, thank you for reading! Welcome to "Watchpoint Drabbles" a story that exists so I can have a place to post silly little drabbles I write on Tumblr for Overwatch. I can't say how often it'll be updated, but I will say is that I plan to write more! And if you'd like to request a drabble, head over to my <a href="https://grovyrosegirl.tumblr.com">Tumblr blog</a> and send me a message!</p><p>The song McCree's singing is "Send Me On My Way" by Rusted Root.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Photo Wall (Hanmei)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Requested by anonymous on Tumblr! They wanted some cute content between Mei and Hanzo. I hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His arrival to the Watchpoint had been met with hostility. Hanzo expected this, but it didn’t make the process any less tedious. After surrendering his weapons, he’d been moved from room to room. Behind closed doors, Genji and his comrades held discussions he was not allowed to partake in, but he could feel a clash of personalities debating what to do with him. He could not always hear what Genji said, but Hanzo had a correct feeling that his naive brother wanted him to stay. To join them. Why? Hanzo could not answer. He finally managed to eavesdrop on one of their heated meetings the second night, in small part due to the rooms being close together, but also thanks to a sonic arrowhead he may have been able to smuggle in and easily toss under the doorway.</p>
<p>Despite coming of his own free will, Hanzo couldn’t help but side with the agents who wanted him gone.</p>
<p>A short man with some sort of mechanical gear installed in a prosthetic arm suggested sending him away, saying, “We could turn him over to the International Police. He’d never be our problem again.”</p>
<p>“Now hold on!” exclaimed a young woman with a strange, glowing device attached to her chest, “He’s Genji’s brother. He should get a say in this!”</p>
<p>“Thank you, Lena,” said a clearly exhausted Genji.</p>
<p>The base’s medic, who Hanzo now knew both as Angela Ziegler and Genji’s lifesaver all those years ago, pinched the bridge of her nose and wearily said, “I don’t like having him here either. But Genji is right, we can’t simply toss him back out to the world.” She gestured towards a hologram that he couldn’t see from his view, “We went through his phone, you all saw those messages. Talon has their eyes on him. <i>Doomfist</i> has his eyes on him.”</p>
<p>A man in cowboy attire agreed, “Doc’s right. Even if we turn him over to the U.N., there’s no guarantee he won’t break out. Y’all know what Talon did to that Helix prison to get Ogundimu out. Same thing with Sigma. If Talon wants someone, they get them, no matter what. And frankly, I’d rather not see the bastard sniping at us across the battlefield.”</p>
<p>“Hanzo would never join Talon,” Genji sharply retorted. “He knows there is nothing but destruction and pointless death in their methods.”</p>
<p>“No offense Genji, but I’ve never seen someone so quick to defend an attempted murderer,” a young man in headphones folded his arms and gave Genji a concerned expression. “I know he’s your brother, but you’ve got to admit that’s kind of messed up.”</p>
<p>“It’s more complicated than that—” Genji let out a frustrated sigh before continuing, “Please, Lúcio, everyone, do not be angry towards Hanzo for my sake. I only wish for us to move forward.”</p>
<p>“Genji, it’s not just for your sake,” a firm, yet calm woman with traces of built-in cybernetics spoke up. When she spoke, all eyes went to her and all murmurs and whispers went silent. “I’m sorry. He’s your family, and I know how important this is to you. But the fact is, he tried to kill you. And he’s been killing others as an assassin for years. We can’t ignore the possible threat he poses to everyone on the Watchpoint.”</p>
<p>“But Sojourn—”</p>
<p>She held up her hand, “Relax. We’re not going to throw him out. Mercy and McCree brought up a good point. It’s also too dangerous to let him go. We’ll figure this out. I promise.”</p>
<p>That was all Hanzo could stand to hear. The rest of that meeting dissolved into muffled arguments that ended when all the agents agreed that it was getting late. They all needed sleep and time to process the best compromise.</p>
<p>The morning would come with that compromise.</p><hr/>
<p>Hanzo was allowed to stay. But with conditions. He was placed on what they called a “probation” period. (At least, that’s what the less pessimistic agents called it.) He would have access to the Watchpoint’s facilities and be a part of residential duties, such as cleaning and cooking, as long as he was escorted by one of the agents. He was not allowed to leave the Watchpoint grounds, and he would not be placed on any sort of combat mission until Sojourn and Winston, were sure he was trustworthy. How long this probation period would last, nobody knew.</p>
<p>There was a rotation of where he would go and who would be with him every day. The other agents’ attitudes towards him varied. Some couldn’t stand being in the same room with him. Others attempted to be friendly, but their hesitance at treating him too kindly was always looming. Very few actually made an effort to hold a conversation with him that didn’t involve his work or Genji.</p>
<p>Genji was given a daily time slot to be his brother’s guard, which he agonizedly spent trying to connect with the ever-distant Hanzo. On the good days, their conversations were shallow and awkward. On the bad days, their conversations spiraled into verbal duels of confrontation.</p>
<p>If only Genji wasn’t so stubborn on reforging what was already broken. If only he would stop talking about forgiveness and a future where they could be family again. If only Genji didn’t remember all of these small details, such as Hanzo’s favorite type of tea or how long he liked his meat cooked, from their younger days.</p>
<p>If only Genji could just hate him, Hanzo thought every night.</p>
<p>Things would be so much easier.</p><hr/>
<p>Two weeks pass. Another day becomes an evening.</p>
<p>Hanzo waits for his next guard in the dorm they provided for him. It’s the standard room set-up for residents of Watchpoint: Gibraltar. A single twin-sized bed set up in the corner, a dresser with three large drawers, a desk with a lamp, and a small bathroom off to the side equipped with a sink and toilet.</p>
<p>Unlike the rooms of other residents, however, his room is barren. Hanzo has gotten small glimpses of their rooms in the time he’s been here. With every space, one can easily distinguish who it belongs to. Each room he’s seen has a burst of life and the tiniest details that tell so much about its inhabitant. Genji’s room, though minimalist, has traces of his time with the Shambali, tiny gifts given to him by the monks and villagers.</p>
<p>He only got a brief glance of Dr. Ziegler’s room, but from what he saw, it perfectly reflected her dedicated and firm nature. He’d spotted a bookshelf filled with writings on cell biology, as well as a file cabinet, which he assumed was likely where she kept detailed notes on the medical history of each resident. But that was all she would ever permit him to see. She was never going to let him step inside, in more ways than one.</p>
<p>Tracer, the young woman who had sided with Genji during that first meeting, had shown Hanzo around her brightly lit room covered wall to wall in photos and posters. She had sunny yellow covers on a bed that she happily bounced on whenever she sat down. It’s too bright for Hanzo, overwhelming even, much like Tracer herself. She was trying too hard for Genji. It was painfully obvious.</p>
<p>Aside from a few belongings from his travels, most of which were mere survival tools, strung about, there’s hardly any sort of personal touch in Hanzo’s room. Nothing to make it his own, and nothing to indicate he ever inhabited it. Maybe this is for the best.</p>
<p>It’s past dinner and almost seven o’clock. His previous guard, a young woman named Brigitte Lindholm, left only moments ago. Hanzo sits on his bed and grimaces as he realizes who his next guard will be. His last guard for the night before lights out. It’s Genji’s shift next.</p>
<p>The door to his bedroom clicks and slowly slides open. Hanzo mentally prepares himself for utter monotony or a draining argument.</p>
<p>“Hi!” comes a voice that is definitely not Genji’s.</p>
<p>Hanzo turns. A woman, likely a few years younger than him, steps into the room. He recognizes her thick glasses, dark hair tied in a ponytail, and general happy demeanor from around the Watchpoint, but they’ve never spoken before. In her arms, she’s carrying a tray with a small tea kettle and two cups.</p>
<p>He cautiously replies, “Hello.”</p>
<p>“Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you,” she says, making her way over to the desk and placing the tray down. “Genji got pulled away, so I’ll be handling his shift tonight. Do you want some tea?”</p>
<p>“Pulled away?” Hanzo questions.</p>
<p>She raises the kettle and begins pouring steaming tea into the cups, “Winston needed him for a last minute briefing. I hope you don’t mind.”</p>
<p>He pauses, then sighs, “No. That is fine. I do not believe we have been introduced.”</p>
<p>“Dr. Mei-Ling Zhou,” she says, walking over and handing him the second cup.</p>
<p>He takes it, “Hanzo Shimada.”</p>
<p>“Nice to meet you, Hanzo.”</p>
<p>They drink their tea and engage in a brief conversation. Hanzo learns the basics about her. She’s a scientist, a specialty in climatology to be exact. Her main work with Overwatch is focused on re-establishing the abandoned Ecopoints across the planet for the sake of studying a supposed anomaly in the atmosphere. Despite this, she’s also apparently a combatant on regular strike missions. Though she admits she’s still rather new to fighting, having to rely more on her weapon. According to her, her friends simply call her Mei.</p>
<p>“So, Overwatch allows civilians to fight now?” Hanzo says with a raised eyebrow. “That seems careless.”</p>
<p>Mei sips her tea and replies, “I’m not a civilian. I’m just a scientist.”</p>
<p>She leaves soon after the kettle is empty. Before scooping up the tray and heading to the door, Mei gives him another smile and wishes him goodnight.</p>
<p>It’s a strange meeting. But Hanzo supposes it’s far more preferable than another evening with Genji.</p><hr/>
<p>The next day comes around. At one point in the afternoon, Hanzo dreads another shift with his brother, but once again finds himself surprised with Mei entering the room instead. She brings more tea. They sit in the center of the room, using a foldable table she brought from one of the old offices, along with an extra stool from her lab and the desk chair.</p>
<p>“Your room is a bit empty,” She points out in the middle of their conversation.</p>
<p>“I was not carrying much when I arrived here,” He says. “And your colleagues still have possession of my weapons.”</p>
<p>She nods, “True. But you know, you <i>are</i> living here now, you might as well make the space yours.”</p>
<p>“Am I living here, Dr. Zhou?” Hanzo scoffs. “Most people would describe this arrangement as imprisonment.”</p>
<p>“Probation,” Mei swiftly corrects him. “The whole point of it is that you’re going to live here at some point.”</p>
<p>“You sound so sure.”</p>
<p>“I’m not,” she shrugs, “I’m only going by what I observe.”</p>
<p>Hanzo folds his arms and leans back in the chair, “It doesn't matter anyway. The room has the basic necessities. I do not need frivolous decorations.”</p>
<p>“If you say so, then that’s fine. It’s your room after all.”</p><hr/>
<p>A few days later, Genji disappears once more. Another last minute obligation, according to Mei. This time however, she doesn’t bring tea. Instead, she’s carrying along a shopping bag with something heavy inside.</p>
<p>“I want to show you something,” she says, placing the bag on the ground and shuffling through it. Eventually, she locates her prize and presents to him. “Ta-da!”</p>
<p>Hanzo tilts his head, “You bought a camera?”</p>
<p>“An instant camera,” Mei explains, turning the device around in her hands. “Lena’s girlfriend, Emily? She’s a photographer. We were in London a few days ago to visit her, and she was telling me all about the different cameras she uses. This kind is really old, but they were popular a century ago since they—”</p>
<p>“I know what an instant camera is,” He coldly interrupts. “What I would like to know is why you thought I would be interested in such a thing?”</p>
<p>Mei frowns and sharply replies, “I was getting to that. Don’t be rude.”</p>
<p>“Fine,” he reluctantly gives, “my apologies. Please continue, Dr. Zhou.”</p>
<p>“See? Was that so hard?” Mei mutters with an eye roll before continuing, “Anyway, I know you said you didn’t want any decorations for your room. But your walls are so blank. So, I thought, what if we made a photo wall?”</p>
<p>“A photo wall?” He repeats in a deadpan tone.</p>
<p>She grins, “Come on, it’ll be fun! We’ll take a bunch of pictures, put them on a bulletin board with some other stuff, and we can hang it in here. That should liven this place up a bit.”</p>
<p>“No,” He says flatly.</p>
<p>“You don’t even want to try it?”</p>
<p>Hanzo shakes his head, “What happened to ‘It’s your room after all’?”</p>
<p>“You don’t have to,” Mei says, “it’s just an idea. Fine, suit yourself. But if you change your mind, I’ll let you borrow this.”</p>
<p>She turns the camera back around, the lens face Hanzo’s direction as a smirk grows on her face.</p>
<p>“But you’re still going to be my first subject.”</p>
<p>He starts, “What are you—”</p>
<p>“Smile!”</p>
<p>Hanzo barely has a moment to register what’s happening before he’s blinded by the camera’s flash and groans loudly while rubbing his eyes. He hears the sound of the polaroid being printed out. When he can see again, Mei is observing the picture in her hands with a smile.</p>
<p>“An excellent shot,” She says with a laugh. Mei then hands the polaroid to him. “Don’t worry, you can keep this one.”</p>
<p>It’s not a flattering photo. His eyes are wide, and his arm is blurred across the frame as he had been attempting to shield his eyes.</p>
<p>“Please,” says Hanzo with a huff, “do not do that again.”</p>
<p>Her amused expression slowly falls to one of embarrassment as Mei admits, “I’m sorry, that was a bit mean of me. I’ll ask you next time. And you can throw that out if you want.”</p>
<p>She places the camera back in the bag then turns to the door, “I’ll make it up to you with some tea, how about that? Be right back.”</p>
<p>She leaves the room. Hanzo is left alone with only the messy photo. He moves to toss it to the waste bin.</p>
<p>But he stops. And he places it in his pocket instead.</p><hr/>
<p>After an unbearable shift with Jesse McCree, the cowboy with a sharp eye who Hanzo makes a mental note not to be careless around, he is escorted to the Watchpoint’s main laboratory. He spots Winston in the office above and Dr. Ziegler can be seen in the back of the room, writing equations down on one of the holographic boards. Mei is standing at one of the lab tables. She’s equipped with a lab coat, gloves, and a microscope that she peers into before looking up and spotting the two.</p>
<p>“Hi McCree, Hanzo.” She politely greets them.</p>
<p>“Howdy Snowflake,” McCree says with a tip of his hat. He gestures towards Hanzo, “He’s all yours.”</p>
<p>“Perfect timing! I could use a lab assistant.”</p>
<p>McCree adds on, “Make sure he doesn’t blow anything up.”</p>
<p>Mei laughs, “We won’t be working with any dangerous chemicals today.”</p>
<p>“And don’t let him near the Bunsen burners.”</p>
<p>“Got it, McCree.”</p>
<p>“Or any sharp objects.”</p>
<p>“<i>Thank you</i>, McCree,” Mei says in a drawn-out, subtle indication that he could leave now. McCree takes the response with a chuckle and waves as he exits.</p>
<p>Hanzo makes his way over to her. She hands him a spare lab coat and directs him over to a hologram screen and clipboard.</p>
<p>“Like I said, no dangerous chemicals or anything like that today,” she tells him. “I’m looking over some of my soil samples from Ecopoint: Siberia. But I also have the computer sorting through the temperature readings as well. Just keep an eye on the screen and write down the numbers that pop up on the clipboard. Easy!”</p>
<p>Hanzo nods and does what he’s told. It’s simple enough to the point of boredom. Eventually, he swiftly finishes his task and alerts Mei, who tells him he can take a breather while she finishes up her work at the microscope.</p>
<p>To occupy himself, Hanzo takes a moment to soak in the contents of Mei’s workspace. It’s here that he notices the familiar instant camera sitting off on the corner of one of the counters. Scattered around the camera in a messy pile are several polaroids. He takes a look at their contents. The first few are selfies and group shots with several of the other agents. In one, Tracer and Mei are hugging each other with big smiles on their faces. Winston peeks over them in the background. Another photo is one of Lúcio and Mei. Lúcio holds the camera up with one arm while the other is wrapped around a laughing Mei, who gives a peace sign with her fingers. One photo has McCree and another agent he knows as Fareeha Amari standing together in the kitchen. They’re both holding coffee mugs and smiling at the camera, though it appears Amari had used her free hand to make bunny ears behind an unsuspecting McCree’s head. A different picture is of Dr. Ziegler, sitting at her desk, wearing reading glasses, and waving at the camera.</p>
<p>The next few batches of polaroids are location shots. Some he recognizes as sections of the Watchpoint, but others aren’t as familiar. The one that truly catches his eye, though, is a picture of a sakura tree. The photo appears to have been taken right underneath the branches, as small pockets of sunlight blur in-between sections of bright pink petals.</p>
<p>“Where did you take this?” The words fall out of Hanzo’s mouth, and it’s too late to shut himself up.</p>
<p>Mei looks over her shoulder, “Oh, are you looking at my photos? Which one?”</p>
<p>He turns and shows it to her.</p>
<p>Mei spins her whole body around with an excited gleam in her eyes, “Oh that one! We had a mission in Okinawa a few weeks ago. It wasn’t a combat one, so after we escorted our payload, I thought I could be a bit of a tourist and take some pictures. Turns out we’d come right around the time those cherry blossom trees start to bloom. Do you like it?”</p>
<p>He stares at it a bit longer before he answers. There’s a strange feeling that overcomes him with this photo. A feeling that seems lost to him. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time. Memories whisper in his mind. The calm, soothing voice of his mother runs along in his mind. Those long-forgotten, peaceful days where she would bundle Hanzo and Genji up in sweaters and take them to the castle’s gardens and watch the sakura trees bloom for spring. He remembers the times where she would prepare a picnic for them under that same tree. Genji would always try to steal an extra snack from Hanzo’s plate, and the two would bicker and hit each other until their mother, gentle but strict, broke them up.</p>
<p>“Hanzo?”</p>
<p>One late spring day, their mother came home from a doctor’s appointment with grave news. Hanzo sat under that tree for most of the afternoon. His mother came looking for him, and when she found him, long, black hair already tangled with pink petals, she didn’t say a word. She simply sat next to him under the sakura tree and held him close.</p>
<p>The picture trembles in his shaking hand.</p>
<p>“Yes,” he says, forcing his voice to stabilize. “It’s a good shot.”</p>
<p>Mei slowly walks closer to him. Her face is unreadable.</p>
<p>“You can keep that one too, if you want,” she says.</p><hr/>
<p>Hanzo returns to his room that day with the polaroid and a thumbtack in his pocket. He pins the picture to the wall above his bed.</p><hr/>
<p>During their next probation meeting and tea session, Hanzo gives Mei a request.</p>
<p>“A bulletin board?” She repeats.</p>
<p>He nods, “To keep track of important papers. And...” He trails off. Then he sighs in defeat. “Perhaps, a few photos as well.”</p>
<p>“So, basically,” Mei says, there’s a hint of smugness in her smile that she’s trying desperately to hide. She rests her chin in her hands and leans forward in her chair ever so slightly. “You want to make a photo wall?”</p>
<p>Hanzo shuts his eyes and represses the urge to raise his voice.</p>
<p>“If I say yes, will you speak about this to no one?” He says through grit teeth.  </p>
<p>Mei giggles and makes a lock-the-lips-and-throw-away-the-key motion.</p>
<p>“Your secret is safe with me,” she says with a wink.</p><hr/>
<p>They spend another one of their probation meetings outside of the communications tower. It’s the golden hour for photographs, and the view of Gibraltar’s rocky coast and the sunset are too good to pass up.</p>
<p>Mei, from a safe distance as to not scare the nearby creatures, snaps a photo of a group of seagulls lounging around on a rock. She manages to capture them right before the sound of the camera scares off the birds into a scuttled flight. She proudly removes the polaroid and places face down on a nearby crate to protect it from the sunlight.</p>
<p>“Okay, your turn, what next?” She turns and asks Hanzo, handing him the camera. “We only have a few slides of film left. Let’s make them count.”</p>
<p>Hanzo moves the camera to a suitable position in his hands and scans his surroundings. As he’s been learning since they started this project, aiming a camera is not so different from aiming his arrows. It’s all about finding the perfect angle, and knowing the exact moment to make your move. There is a precision to it. One that does not carry the same heaviness that his arrows do. He captures a moment, instead of killing a target.</p>
<p>There isn’t much in the area that they haven’t photographed already. They’re running out of subjects. Hanzo didn’t wish to waste the film on another blurry shot of plants or a rusted former Overwatch vehicle left about on the mothballed launch facility. He also has to be careful with the lighting of whatever he wishes to capture. Polaroids can be quite sensitive to light. The number one rule with an instant camera, according to what Mei heard from this Emily she mentioned, is to have your light source behind you.</p>
<p>There is one area he keeps his eye on as a possible subject. An old building marked “Radar Array WP-G” has a few points of interest that could look well in a photo. There’s the old, stained blue Overwatch flag that still hauntingly flies overhead. Time and weather conditions have taken its toll on the fabric. The stairwell to the building’s left, however, comes with the bonus of getting the ocean in the background if angled right. But what is really drawing Hanzo in is a grey metal panel attached to the front of the building. An Overwatch insignia is sprayed-painted on it. Pieces of the paint are chipping off, and the colors contrast so well against the blue backdrop of the rest of the building.</p>
<p>He frowns. The panel is a good start, but something is lacking. The way the light reflects off of the metal will definitely blur the edges, but as long as he can have a clear subject in the middle of the frame, it might still come out as something decent.</p>
<p>But what to place there?</p>
<p>Hanzo ponders for a moment.</p>
<p>Maybe the better question is who to place there.</p>
<p>“Mei-Ling,” he turns to her.</p>
<p>“Find something?” she excitedly asks.</p>
<p>Hanzo nods, “Would you mind standing next to that panel?”</p>
<p>She seems a bit surprised by this question, “You want to take a picture of me?”</p>
<p>“Only if that is fine by you. I do not wish to make you uncomfortable.”</p>
<p>“Oh no, no, I’m okay with it,” Mei replies. She makes her way over and stands next to the panel, moving her hands behind her back and leaning against the blue wall. “How’s this?”</p>
<p>“Good, stay right there, I need to find a better angle.”</p>
<p>He shifts around, moving his eyes from the lens to Mei until he feels satisfied with the position.</p>
<p>“This should work.”</p>
<p>Mei then asks, “What kind of tone are we doing? Should I smile? Or look sad? Or maybe you want to do one of those looking off into the distance sort of shots.”</p>
<p>“Just smile and look at the camera. Wait.” He peeks from the lens one last time to tell her, “On second thought, turn your head slightly to the left. The flash might reflect in your glasses if you are looking straight at me.”</p>
<p>“Spoken like a true photographer,” says Mei, following his suggestion. “You and Emily should collaborate sometime.”</p>
<p>Hanzo can’t help but let out the smallest laugh, “I am no professional, Mei-Ling. But I do enjoy our sessions together. Are you ready?”</p>
<p>“Ready!” She calls back.</p>
<p>“Stay still.”</p>
<p>
  <i>Click.</i>
</p><hr/>
<p>They pin the photos onto the bulletin board of Hanzo’s room. At the moment, Hanzo has the photos arranged in a checkerboard-like pattern across the board. The empty spaces between the polaroids are filled with a blue ribbon where he pins other items to hang off of, such as a feather he found one day while cleaning outside, dried up flower petals sealed in plastic wrap, or a Pachimari keychain given to him as a souvenir by Mei.</p>
<p>He pins the photo of her he took today diagonal from the photo of the sakura tree.</p>
<p>“It’s really coming together,” Mei says. She steps up next to him and uses his shoulder as an armrest. She’s shorter than Hanzo by a foot or two, yet somehow she finds this position absolutely comfortable. He’d questioned it before, but that doesn’t mean he minds all that much.</p>
<p>Hanzo says, “I suppose I should thank you for the suggestion to make it.”</p>
<p>“Oh Hanzo, there’s no need—”</p>
<p>“No, please, let me say this?” He cuts her off and shifts away from her so that he can make direct eye contact.</p>
<p>She doesn’t say anything back. Instead, she waits for his next move.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Mei-Ling,” Hanzo tells her with a respectful bow of his head.</p>
<p>Mei gently reaches her hand out and pats his shoulder, “You’re welcome.” She lets out one of her signature giggles before she adds on, “All in all, this has been really fun.”</p>
<p>He looks back up to meet yet another one of her genuine smiles. Though small, he is finally willing to smile back. Maybe it’s simply his mind playing tricks on him, but he swears he can see the faintest shade of red beginning to spread on her face...</p>
<p>“Well,” she cuts any more conversation short, quickly moving to pack up the instant camera and scoop up the polaroids she picked to keep for herself earlier, “my shift is almost up. I should get going and tell Lúcio to head over here. I’ll see you around.”</p>
<p>His smile drops. He doesn’t know why. This is normal, it's routine. She always has to leave in the end. But it’s not as if he will never see her again. She’s in the rotation. Another day will come where he can see her again. And they live on the same base. He will see her in passing, during meals, and perhaps eventually they will even be together on combat assignments.</p>
<p>So why is it that today he feels a heaviness as she heads towards the door? Why does he feel an urge to reach out and grab her hand to stop her? Hanzo feels his left hand grip onto his wrist, as if that urge were about to become a reality.</p>
<p>“Mei-Ling,” He suddenly calls to her, right as she presses the panel and the door slides open.</p>
<p>But thankfully, his voice reaches her. She turns around.</p>
<p>“Yes, Hanzo?”</p>
<p>He is quiet for a brief moment.</p>
<p>
  <i>Words.</i>
</p>
<p>He’s forgotten what to say.</p>
<p>
  <i>Words.</i>
</p>
<p>“Um, Hanzo?”</p>
<p>
  <i>Use your words, damn it!</i>
</p>
<p>He shakes his head, “It is nothing. Have a good evening.”</p>
<p>“You too,” She waves and cheerfully exits. “Zài jiàn!”</p>
<p>The door closes behind her. Hanzo is left alone. He slowly trudges over to the bed and lets himself fall flat onto the soft surface. The sound of a muffled groan is absorbed by his pillow. Eventually, he pulls himself up into a sitting position and looks over his shoulder to the bulletin board across the room.</p>
<p>His eyes focus on the photo of her. It’s finally adjusted to the light, and the image is perfectly visible now. Her smile is frozen in his direction. A moment of Mei-Ling Zhou is forever captured in an image.</p>
<p>Hanzo brings his hands up to his face.</p>
<p>And he feels a warmth he hasn’t felt in a long time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>There was a lot more I wanted to put in here, but after working on it for a while, it was becoming a bit too long (and angsty) for me. Sooo there might be a part two of this drabble in the future! No promises, but it's possible. </p>
<p>Anyway, I hope you all have a lovely day!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Goodbye (Gency)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Requested by anonymous on Tumblr!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Angela Ziegler is a doctor. Angela Ziegler is a scientist. She is always firmly planted in reality. She doesn’t believe in too many greater forces. Or at least, she doesn’t like to think about the possibility of a greater force controlling her every movement and thought.</p>
<p>Because if there really were greater forces watching her that night...</p>
<p>They were very cruel. </p>
<p>It was supposed to be a quick trip to the vending machine outside of her office. A snack break. A brief, mindless moment to grab something to crunch on while she continued on her grind of late night work. But of course, the moment after she pulled out the Kägi bar from the slot, she heard the sound of a door opening and closing. Of course, when she paused she heard footsteps. And of course, when she finally turned around, she saw a familiar silhouette in the dimly lit hallway. </p>
<p>“Genji?” </p>
<p>Genji suddenly turned his head in her direction, clearly not expecting to hear her voice that night. In this second of brief panic, Angela was able to note a few troubling details about his appearance. For one thing, he was wearing an oversized sweatshirt. The hood was pulled up in a way that would’ve hid the rest of his masked face in shadows were it not for the green glow of his visor. This alone wasn’t what troubled her, however. What added to the unease was that his sword was sheathed and strapped to his back, along with the fact that he was carrying a duffle bag in one hand. </p>
<p>A duffle bag that looked filled and neatly packed, to be more specific. </p>
<p>“Angela,” said Genji, regaining his composure. “I’m sorry. You surprised me. What are you still doing up?”</p>
<p>Now that was an odd question. Genji, of all people, should’ve known the answer to that by now. Especially since he had joined her for so many all-nighters in the past. Why would he think tonight would be any different? </p>
<p>Unless it was merely a distraction. He always did excel at deflection, on and off the battlefield. </p>
<p>“Paperwork,” she answered before sliding the Kägi into her pocket and folding her arms. “I could ask you the same thing.” </p>
<p>“I...” Genji started and trailed off, knowing there was no good answer to that statement. </p>
<p>Which is why Angela soon said, “My follow-up question then. Where are you going?” </p>
<p>His head tilted down in the direction of the duffle bag. Slowly, he let go of the bag’s strap and it fell to the floor. The landing was soft, nowhere near loud enough to wake up the sleeping Captain Sojourn, Tracer, and Winston in their rooms down another hallway, nor loud enough to alert any other late night workers in the surrounding offices. </p>
<p>“Away,” said Genji, looking back to her. </p>
<p>Her brows furrowed as her arms fell back to her sides in disbelief, “Away? That’s it? You’re going away. In the middle of the night. Without a word of warning.”</p>
<p>“Angela—”</p>
<p>“No, no, please Genji,” She cut him off in a harsh whisper as to not alert anyone who might have been nearby. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me that you weren’t about to sneak off had I not spotted you. Were you going to let us know where you were once you got off base? Did you leave a note? Or were we supposed to wake up tomorrow to find your room empty and simply go about our lives never knowing where you are?” </p>
<p>The only words that leave him after an agonizing second of silence are, “I’m sorry.” He added on, “I did leave a note but...I’m sorry.” </p>
<p>A pang of guilt struck her for grilling him. Not that she wasn’t upset with the suddenness of everything before her, but she knew that whatever decisions Genji were making, however much she disagreed, they were never done with the intent to hurt her or any of their teammates. Perhaps he feared that an in-person farewell would have hurt them more. Or maybe it would have hurt him more to see their reactions. </p>
<p>People go to great lengths to avoid pain of all shapes and sizes. Dr. Ziegler knew this well. </p>
<p>“I’m not...” She started and stopped. It would be a lie to say that she wasn’t angry with him. No, that wasn’t right either. She was angry. But not with him. Angela released a long sigh and pulled herself together enough to say her piece. “Are you certain this is what you want to do? We can talk about this. Maybe, just, go back to bed, and in the morning, we’ll have a meeting with the others—” </p>
<p>“No,” Genji replied in a sudden, matter-of-fact tone. “I’m sorry, Angela. But I have already made up my mind. If I do not leave now, tonight, I may never do it.” </p>
<p>She argued with, “But why do you <i>need</i> to leave?” </p>
<p>“Because,” He shot back, “I can’t stay.” </p>
<p>Before she could get another word in, Genji had already lifted his duffel bag from off the floor and swung it over his shoulders. He immediately started off for the exit. </p>
<p>“Genji!” she called. When he didn’t stop or respond, she speed-walked after him down the hallway. “Genji, stop!”  She caught up with him before he could reach the staircase to the building’s main lobby and swung around in front of him. He came to a halt and made no attempt to push past her.  </p>
<p>“Please, don’t make this harder,” he said in an exhausted voice. “<i>Please.</i>”</p>
<p>Angela shook her head, “Not like this, Genji. Please don’t do it like this. At least tell me why.” </p>
<p>“I told you—” He began to argue. </p>
<p>“No you didn’t!” She exclaimed, causing Genji to flinch at the sudden rise of her voice. She noticed the small step he took back right away. The guilt stung once more. Too much, in fact. She could feel a hard lump beginning to form in her throat and the corners of her eyes started to well up.  Slowly, Angela backed off from him and looked away. Her shoulders clenched up as her hands moved to shield her face from the world. She took a few shuddering breaths in an attempt to fight off the pain in her throat. Her index fingers moved slightly to wipe away at the coming tears before they could leak down her face and she embarrassed herself even more. </p>
<p>Angela let out a barely audible, “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>She waited for the sound of his footsteps going down the stairs, for the soft green glow of his visor to slowly fade away from between her fingers. If she couldn’t stop him from the leaving, the least he could do was make it quick, right? </p>
<p>But neither of those came. Instead, Angela felt two strong arms gently wrapping around her shoulders and pulling her close to something warm. Without opening her eyes, she let her hands fall from her face and cling to that warm place. </p>
<p>“Angela,” said Genji, his voice was soft. </p>
<p>The tears were already flowing down her cheeks. She released a strained sob as her grip on him only tightened. There was no point in fighting it anymore, she supposed. </p>
<p>“It’s raining outside,” he said. </p>
<p>Was it? She hadn’t even noticed until now. The thud of raindrops on the roof were now a mere backdrop to his voice. </p>
<p>“Do you have an umbrella?” He asked her. </p>
<p>She sniffled before answering, “I do.” </p>
<p>“Then,” said Genji, “perhaps you could walk with me?”</p><hr/>
<p>By the time they were outside, Angela had calmed down enough to walk side-by-side with Genji under her small, blue umbrella. It wasn’t nearly big enough to keep them both dry at once. Every few seconds, Angela could feel the stray raindrop bounce onto the back of her lab coat, and water was already dripping down Genji’s cybernetic arm. But that didn’t matter much. If anything, it only gave them an excuse to walk closer to each other. </p>
<p>Rainy nights were always quieter on the Swiss Base. With the weather forcing most outdoor procedures indoors, the only other signs of life across the vast yard outside the main building were late night security guards roaming about in their hover carts and a few lone blue-armored agents spread about for reasons unknown. Angela noticed one poor office employee appeared to have been caught off guard and was hurriedly running towards the building, using their briefcase as cover from the rain. The sight reminded her of her own early days at Overwatch.</p>
<p>Even before Jack Morrison brought her on as head of medical research, Angela would often visit the Swiss Base. Her younger years in medical school hardly gave her much free time, but on those rare days off because of a canceled class or a holiday, she would catch the hover bus over to the base and visit Torbjörn and Reinhardt. She remembered how big and bright the courtyards of HQ looked back then. Starry-eyed and eager to please, Angela Ziegler dreamed during every visit she made that she would one day be there with them, changing the world for the better. Her wish came true many years ago.  </p>
<p>But like the stories always foretold, wishes always came with a price. And in recent years, Angela soon began to make other wishes. Wishes she wouldn’t dare say out loud, otherwise they wouldn’t come true. Or worse, they <i>would</i> come true.<br/>
The two passed the statue of Morrison near the base’s entrance. Without a word, both she and Genji paused to look at it. </p>
<p>“Something is going to break,” said Genji.</p>
<p>The normally white marble was tinged grey due to the rain. But other signs of neglect and disrepair were present. There were cracks in the foundation. In some cracks, one could spot creeping weeds or moss peeking through. The most noticeable crack was across stone-Morrison’s chest, making the Overwatch emblem on his armor look as if it were about to shatter into two halves at any second. Smudges of spray paint poorly washed out could also be seen. </p>
<p>Angela pressed her lips. She always did think that statue was a bit much. But now? She believed it perfectly represented what Overwatch was.</p>
<p>Cracked. Falling apart. Trying to stand tall even though its foundation was doomed from the start.</p>
<p>Angela nodded, “The people have every right to be angry. What have we accomplished that didn’t end up making things worse?” </p>
<p>“We caught Doomfist,” Genji casually replied. “That’s one good deed I suppose.” </p>
<p>“We cut off the Hydra’s head,” Angela sighed. “But three more will grow back. Talon wasn’t only Ogundimu. They won’t quit simply because their leader is locked away.” </p>
<p>“Perhaps,” said Genji, “but they’ve gone quiet for now. That gives us—<i>you all</i> more time to prepare your next move.”  </p>
<p>They continued onward. As they reached the gates, the two made a slight detour when a large puddle flooded the path to the sidewalk. </p>
<p>Genji suddenly broke the silence again when he said, “I was not referring to Overwatch when I said something is going to break. That much is obvious. I was referring to Morrison and Reyes.” </p>
<p>Angela gripped the umbrella’s handle. </p>
<p>He continued, “You’ve seen their arguments recently. I can feel it. Each one is more angrier than the last. They’re going to reach a breaking point. If the U.N. does not step in first—”</p>
<p>“—One of them is going to leave. Maybe both,” Angela finished sadly. “They’re getting older by the day. And with everything that’s happened, the U.N. will probably want them out of the public eye for good.”</p>
<p>“Who do you suppose will take over if Morrison steps down as Strike Commander?” asked Genji. “I always thought it would be Captain Amari but...she is gone.” </p>
<p>Angela felt another sting in her eyes. This time, however, she was able to breathe down the pain in her throat. <i>That</i> particular pain in her heart, while it still ached, had finally started to numb over the last few months.  </p>
<p>She continued, “I suppose the next choice would be Captain Sojourn. She’s a younger face, capable of the job, and certainly the best pick. I want to believe that she could make things right if she does take over but...”</p>
<p>She trailed off. </p>
<p>“...Maybe things are far too broken to repair,” Genji finished for her. “She is only one person.” </p>
<p>They reached the sidewalk and headed towards the hover bus stop. Thankfully, it seemed no one else was there at the moment. Normally, the stop’s several bench shelters would be filled with people waiting for the ride back into Geneva. Tourists and agents alike used to wait at the stop. Lately, however, most agents were staying on-base. </p>
<p>Genji continued as they made their way to the first shelter, “It is hard to say what will become of Commander Reyes. Even if by some unforeseen chance Blackwatch is reinstated, I doubt they will allow him to lead it.” </p>
<p>“I can’t imagine who would take over there,” said Angela.</p>
<p>“McCree always believed that Reyes was preparing him as his successor,” Genji explained. “If you’d asked me years ago, I would not have questioned the idea. He was the commander’s right hand. After Venice, however, nothing was the same between him and Reyes.” </p>
<p>She nodded, “Losing Ana was already hard enough on him. But I think what happened with Dr. Liao was the final straw. He and Mina were so close. I don’t blame him for wanting to walk away.” </p>
<p>Yet another batch of numb pains struck her. </p>
<p>“Neither do I,” said Genji. “I only hope he is safe, wherever he is.” </p>
<p>“Me too.” </p>
<p>Upon reaching the shelter, Angela closed her umbrella and leaned it against one of the hard-light walls surrounding the bench. She sat down and watched Genji place his bag aside before joining her on the bench. </p>
<p>“Genji, is all of this, Morrison and Reyes, Ana, <i>everything</i>,” Angela softly asked, “is this why you’re leaving?” </p>
<p>He shook his head, “No. It certainly did not help my decision, but I have been in the crossfire of internal conflicts before. I would not run only because of that.”</p>
<p>She pursed her lips and rested her hands in her lap. </p>
<p>“Then why?” </p>
<p>Genji didn’t answer right away. Instead, much to Angela’s surprise, he silently reached his hand up to his visor. With a quick click and the sound of pressured air being released, he’d taken off the metal faceplate, revealing the upper half of his scarred face. There was a dull sadness in his brown eyes that lowered to look at his cybernetic hand holding the piece of the mask. </p>
<p>He finally spoke, “I am sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I didn’t want to because,” he paused to take a breath and continued, “my reason for leaving is selfish.” </p>
<p>“What do you mean?” she asked. </p>
<p>The faceplate was clenched by that same hand, “I can’t recognize my own body, Angela.” </p>
<p>Angela flinched at the statement. Not only from the sorrow she could hear in his voice, but when he said it, his reasons for leaving in the way he did became clear. Too clear for comfort. And in that moment she knew that nothing she did or said would be enough to convince him to stay. </p>
<p>“I wake up every day, and I can barely look at myself in the mirror,” Genji continued. “When I’m fighting, I don’t think about it. These parts of me are weapons. In the midst of battle, I don’t have time to think about them, I just need to <i>use them</i>. But I am not always fighting. That’s the problem. And in every moment in-between, from when I wake up to when I bathe, even when I am simply standing in a room, I think about it.” </p>
<p>His flesh arm moved up to hold his forehead as he slowly leaned forward and his back curled. “I think about this unnatural, inhuman body. No, not even a body, it’s a <i>weapon</i>. This whole thing is a weapon, <i>I</i> am a weapon!” </p>
<p>Angela immediately reached out and touched his shoulder, “You’re not a weapon! You’re a person. And there’s nothing unnatural or inhuman about you.” </p>
<p>“I wish I could believe that,” said Genji. “Really, I do. I feel at home with the strike team. That is more than I can say for even my own family. And I owe you all so much. You, especially, who saved my life. But, perhaps, I would have been better off—”</p>
<p>“Don’t,” Angela harshly interrupted him. “Don’t you dare say what I know you’re going to say. Believe me, Genji, your life was worth saving. And if I could go back, I would do it again. I swear to you.” </p>
<p>Genji slowly raised his head to look at her. It was there when Angela saw the tiny flow of tears at the corner of his eyes.</p>
<p>“See what I mean?” Genji said with a half-chuckle, “You’ve always shown me kindness. Even when I did not deserve it. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.” </p>
<p>She moved closer to him on the bench. Her hand that had been on his shoulder slowly made its way up and across his back until her arm was wrapped around his shoulders. Genji leaned his head forward, and she did the same until their foreheads were practically touching. </p>
<p>“There’s nothing to repay,” Angela told him. “You’ve done more than enough for us. For me. You helped me just by being my friend.” </p>
<p>The sound of an engine managed to come through the sound of the pounding rain. The hover bus was coming. </p>
<p>“Thank you, Angela. I wish I could stay with you all,” He looked to her sadly. “But until I know how to live in this body, I can’t live with you.”</p>
<p>Genji slipped away from her grasp and placed his faceplate back on. Angela sat back up and looked down the road. The lights of the hover bus were growing brighter. </p>
<p>“Where will you go?” she asked. </p>
<p>Genji only replied with, “I don’t know.” </p>
<p>He stood up, grabbing his bag once more. The bus only grew louder and closer. Angela stood up next to him and reached into her lab coat pocket. She drew the Kägi bar out and offered it to him. </p>
<p>“Well, take this,” she said. “It’s not much of a meal, but it should give you some energy until you figure out your next step.”</p>
<p>Genji hesitated for a second, but he took the bar and stuffed it into the pocket of his hoodie. </p>
<p>He then said, “Thank you. If we—<i>When</i> we meet again, I’ll buy you dinner as thanks.” </p>
<p>“That sounds wonderful. I’m looking forward to it.”</p>
<p>The hover bus honked its horn to alert any passengers that might’ve not been able to be seen in the dark of its approach. Genji stepped out from beneath the shelter onto the sidewalk. Raindrops soaked into the hoodie.</p>
<p>“Tell Lena to keep training,” said Genji without turning around. “She always was my favorite student.” </p>
<p>“I will,” said Angela. </p>
<p>The bus came to a stop in front of them. </p>
<p>“Tell Winston that I always liked working with him. Our talks were nice, even if they were a bit awkward.” </p>
<p>“I will.”</p>
<p>The door slid open.</p>
<p>“And tell Captain Sojourn I appreciated everything she did for me.” He gestured towards his body, “Even with my feelings, she always tried to help me be more comfortable with this body.”</p>
<p>Angela smirked, “Not to mention, she was the one who finally convinced you to get rid of the blades on your legs.” </p>
<p>“That too.” </p>
<p>They shared one last laugh together. </p>
<p>He stepped onto the bus. Angela took her own step forward, standing in the entrance of the shelter and leaning against the frame. She watched as Genji finally turned around to face her one final time. </p>
<p>“Despite the circumstances that brought us together,” said Genji, “I am glad we met.” </p>
<p>Angela gave him a sincere smile, “Me too.” </p>
<p>“Goodbye, Angela.”</p>
<p>“Goodbye, Genji.” </p>
<p>The door shut. The hover bus jerked and slowly pulled away, disappearing into the foggy streets.</p><hr/>
<p>Angela Ziegler didn’t realize she’d left her umbrella at the hover bus shelter until she reentered her office. She was soaked from head to toe. Her lab coat was heavy and dragging, so she tossed it over a nearby stool. </p>
<p>She made her way back to her desk and sat down. Her hand shakily picked up a pen, as if by some miracle she could even think to finish the damn paperwork tonight. </p>
<p>Angela crumbled and released a series of repressed sobs. </p>
<p>Just what she needed. Another pain in need of numbing.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Ghosts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Requested by Tumblr user cybuuorg for Angst Prompts! They're also a writer here on AO3 under the name deathblossoms. I highly recommend checking out their work! They're a super talented writer who really nails the characterization of Gabriel Reyes/Reaper. </p><p>Prompt: "My past comes back to haunt me, and I can't chase the ghosts away." </p><p>Sooo seeing how this a Reaper-centric story, I had to tap into my hidden love of the horror genre a little bit. This fic gets a bit darker than what I've written before, so I'm going to place the proper trigger warnings here as well as add them to the tags of this story. See them below. </p><p> </p><p>  <b>Trigger Warnings: Canon-typical violence, blood, weapons, hints of body horror, and death mentions.</b></p><p> </p><p>If any of these are subjects that may cause you distress, I would suggest skipping this chapter. With all that said, if you're still here, I hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(Gabriel Reyes hated the cold.)</p><p>Reaper does not feel the cold anymore. </p><p>He raises his arm, uncurls his fingers, and holds his gloved palm open. A small trio of snowflakes fall down from the skies above St. Petersburg and land on his hand. He moves it closer to get a better look at them. People always marvel at snowflakes, one of the natural arts handcrafted by the Earth itself. But they only marvel under a microscope. Up close without one, snowflakes all look the same. Clumps of solid water particles that become just another part of a street that’s too frozen to walk on or a snow pile shoveled to a corner that will eventually become the bathroom for a dog. He remembers the streets of Geneva in the winter, and how much he disliked when snowflakes landed on his gloves, melting upon impact and seeping cold water onto his hands.</p><p>(Gabriel Reyes remembers those winters. He remembers how red his friends’ noses would get after a day out in the city. He remembers how one of them would get cocky and try to surprise him with a snowball on their way back into base. He remembers the time he and Jack fell on top of eachother in the snow when Ana managed to sneak a double hit of snowballs behind their backs. They never heard the end of it.) </p><p>The snowflakes on his hands don’t melt as fast anymore.</p><p>He flicks them to the side and shifts his gaze forward. Volskaya Industries rests in the night across the river. The lights of the facilities are still on. No doubt that the factory runs twenty-four hours. The Siberian Omnium doesn’t take breaks after all, so neither can Volskaya. </p><p>Reaper failed during his last job there. In normal circumstances, he wouldn’t let a failure like that slide. Especially with the knowledge that said failure was the result of internal sabotage. </p><p>Sombra thinks she’s clever. Not clever enough, however. </p><p>But there was no need to take any drastic action. In the end, it was a cost to Talon, not him. Vialli’s Talon, to be exact. The release of Akande Ogundimu and Vialli’s “unfortunate accident” brought forth a change of priorities in Talon’s council. With this, came the notion that Katya Volskaya is to be kept alive. Whether she knows it or not, Talon needs her as a key player. </p><p>Which is why he has a different target tonight. </p><p>And he won’t be failing again. </p><p>“Ahh, look who it is!” </p><p>He immediately whirls around at the sound of a voice that doesn’t belong here. As he does, he snatches his Hellfire Shotguns from his sides and aims at the figure before him. He doesn’t shoot. Even if he did, it probably wouldn’t have done much, as the figure wears a large, heavy set of armor. In their hands, the figure holds an enormous hammer. It’s one Reaper has seen before, one that used to slam down upon the mainframes of God Programs. </p><p>“The Grim Reaper,” says Reinhardt Wilhelm, a confident smile fills his face lacking a helmet. His hair and beard have grown longer than last Reaper has seen him. “What brings you out tonight? Searching for the lost souls?” </p><p>“It seems I already found one,” he replies, his fingers move to pull the triggers—</p><p>An unexpected scorching projectile impacts his right wrist, causing him to drop the shotgun. Before he can use his remaining one to aim at his unseen target, Reinhardt has used the opportunity to activate the rockets on his back and charges towards him. Reaper braces himself for the hit of the hammer, but it never comes. Reinhardt instead uses the long handle to knock Reaper off balance, swing him to the side, and pin him against the wall of a nearby massive cargo crate. His other shotgun clatters to the ground. The former crusader’s strength at keeping him still is impressive as always. But Reaper knows it’s a futile move. He can quite <i>literally</i> slip through Reinhardt’s grip whenever he wants to. All it will take is a quick collapse back into the shadows. </p><p>He can. But he doesn’t. Not yet. Because Reaper also knows that for all of Reinhardt’s power, he’s soft. Always was. He was never willing to kill unless pushed to an ultimatum, and seeing how Reinhardt subdued him rather than go straight for the hit, it seems that hasn’t changed. </p><p>(Gabriel Reyes always admired that about Reinhardt Wilhelm. A man who used his strength to help others. Even if he was naïve, he was kind. The world needed people like Reinhardt.)</p><p>He decides to play along. For now. </p><p>“Nice try,” comes a second voice. From a corner steps out a shorter, muscled man. His bright red cybernetic arm and a backpack that could be mistaken for a miniature turret factory are hard to miss. “But we’ve never been easy to kill. You should know…”</p><p>What he says next piques Reaper’s interest. </p><p>“Reyes,” finishes Torbjörn Lindholm, his signature anger flaring up in his voice. </p><p>Reaper chuckles, amused, “The secret’s out, huh?” </p><p>He sees Reinhardt’s expression harden as he stares down at him. There’s bitterness mixed with disbelief in the older man’s normally gentle eyes. </p><p>“So then, it is true?” asks Reinhardt. “It’s really you under that mask, my friend?” </p><p>“Don’t call him that,” Torbjörn mutters as he storms over to stand next to Reinhardt, “He’s no friend of ours. Not anymore.” </p><p>Reaper turns his head to meet Torbjörn’s sight as best as he can from his current position, “Since we’re being honest here, I never liked you much either, Lindholm.”</p><p>(Gabriel Reyes always wondered how Torbjörn Lindholm managed to keep his family intact despite the demands of Overwatch. He remembered watching Torbjörn on the holophone, telling his children goodnight with a smile on his face. He couldn’t help but feel jealous.)</p><p>“Quiet!” Torbjörn shouts, pointing his hammer towards him before looking to Reinhardt. “Knock him out, then we’ll get him to the Orca.”</p><p>“Oh?” Reaper tilts his head curiously, “You’re here with Overwatch? Or rather, the monkey’s little volunteer team he <i>calls</i> Overwatch. Reinhardt doesn’t surprise me. But how did Winston convince you, Torbjörn? You were more than happy to leave the first time.” </p><p>“I said quiet! Reinhardt, let’s go.” </p><p>But Reinhardt shakes his head, “Not yet. I want answers. I want to know why he is here.”</p><p>“He can tell us when he’s locked up in an interrogation room,” Torbjörn says, starting to turn away. “Now come on, we don’t have all night.” </p><p>“No,” says Reinhardt. </p><p>Torbjörn stops and looks to his friend, “Reinhardt—”</p><p>“I want to hear it from him. Now.” </p><p>“Reinhardt!” Torbjörn raises his voice as a warning. </p><p>Reinhardt swiftly turns his head towards the shorter man and angrily exclaims, “Not yet!”</p><p>Torbjörn flinches. He goes quiet, but not before he lets out a frustrated sigh, “Fine. Make it quick. The others are waiting.” </p><p>With the matter now settled, Reinhardt focuses on Reaper. </p><p>His voice softens as he begins, “Angela told us. She told us that you were in Cairo. You were attacking the Anubis facility with Talon.” </p><p>Ziegler. Of course. He hadn’t given her much thought a month ago when he saw the familiar glow of the Valkyrie wings in the midst of the chaos. Her focus had been what it always was, getting to innocent civilians caught in the crossfire, and she’d been smart enough to stay out of his way. Little had he known that night though, that she would eventually run off to Winston’s recall as well. That discovery had been a genuine surprise to Reaper. But it seemed even tired, cynical Dr. Ziegler had been swayed by the call of heroism too. </p><p>“But that is not all,” Reinhardt continues. “Before that, Winston told us that you came to Gibraltar. You nearly killed him, and then you tried to gain access to Athena so you could hunt down former Overwatch agents.”</p><p>Reinhardt’s breath shudders. </p><p>“Then he and Tracer tell us that you and an assassin attacked a museum for a gauntlet. A museum with <i>children</i> inside!” His hands are trembling. It’s hard to see or feel beneath the layers of armor, but the metal gauntlets on his hands are making the faintest rattling sound. “I didn’t want to believe it, Gabriel. I know we had our differences, my friend, and those last few years...we grew apart. We all did. But even with all of that, I always knew you were a good man. That’s why I didn’t believe it. The Reaper, a murderer and a monster, couldn’t be Gabriel Reyes. It had to be some imposter, using his weapons and his techniques. <i>Dishonoring</i> his memory—”</p><p>“I didn’t ask to be remembered as a hero,” Reaper interrupts him. “Sorry to kill your image of me.” </p><p>(Gabriel Reyes didn’t need to be called a hero. He only wanted to do the right thing.)</p><p>“We buried you,” Reinhardt retorts, his voice rising with a sorrowful anger. “We mourned you!” </p><p>Reaper scoffs, “Hard to bury what isn’t there. Although, I don’t blame the recovery team for not being able to find a body.”</p><p>“What did Talon do to you, my friend?” he asks desperately, “How did they make you stray so far?” </p><p>Ah, Reinhardt. Reaper thinks to himself. Silly, kind, and <i>stupid</i> Reinhardt. How predictable that his next conclusion is to jump to Talon manipulating him. Like the hero of a fairy tale crying out to his cursed friend to fight back and come home with him. How sweet. </p><p>How wrong. </p><p>Reaper laughs. Loudly. Hoarsely. Cruelly. It causes Reinhardt’s eyes to widen in surprise. Even Torbjörn is shaken enough to take a step back from him. Their reactions don’t deter the Reaper, though. The Reaper keeps laughing and laughing. He doesn’t even pause to take a breath in-between. </p><p>(Gabriel Reyes did what had to be done. It was the only way. Overwatch was far too gone. Everything went down in flames.)</p><p>“Idiot. Talon didn’t do a thing to me,” he finally speaks again. Reaper leans his head forward as far as he can, getting his face to an uncomfortable spot a few centimeters away from Reinhardt’s. The glow of two red eyes peeking from under the owl mask reflects in Reinhardt’s brown eyes. “What you’re seeing in front of you? This was Overwatch’s doing.”</p><p>(Gabriel Reyes woke up surrounded by rubble and smoke. His whole body was in pain. Everything hurt. Everything was d i s a p p e a r i n g . . .)</p><p>“No. That’s not true,” the older man says automatically.</p><p>“He’s bluffing,” Torbjörn pipes back in. “Speaking nonsense. Whatever happened to him, he made his own bed the second he started doing Talon’s dirty work!” </p><p>“Oh, it <i>is</i> true,” Reaper continues, as if Torbjörn’s comment was merely a passing wind in the cold night. “They left me to become this thing. They created their own monster. And their monster is going to be what takes them down. What takes them <i>all</i> down.” He backs off ever so slightly from Reinhardt, but he keeps his stare directly towards him, not even a blink to spare. “And if you two don’t want to be next on my list, I’d suggest you turn around and go back to retirement.” </p><p>(Gabriel Reyes suffered alone.)</p><p>“Gabriel!” Reinhardt exclaims without reason. It must be all that he believes he can say at this point. </p><p>“Gabriel Reyes is dead.” </p><p>(Gabriel Reyes died alone.)</p><p>“Gabriel, how could you do this?!”</p><p>“Enough!” Torbjörn shouts, at his wits’ end. He looks up to Reinhardt, sympathetic but stern, “Are you satisfied now? I don’t think there’s anything left to say.” </p><p>Reinhardt’s desperate expression fades. It falls back into a cold, stone-like stare. His grip on the handle of the hammer tightens. “I suppose you’re right.”</p><p>“Last warning, Wilhelm,” Reaper ominously says, “walk away.” </p><p>“You…” Reinhardt grits his teeth as he suddenly moves back. Without a second to spare, the large former crusader raises his hammer up and swings it to the side, aiming for a swift hit to the head. However, even with righteous fury fueling Reinhardt, the power he swings at isn’t enough to be lethal. A hit like this would be enough to knock a normal person unconscious without much injury. “TRAITOR!” </p><p>A futile move. Just as he predicted. But playtime is over. </p><p>The hammer makes no impact as the Reaper’s head dissolves into a cloud of black smoke. The rest of his body follows. The smoke dives to the ground, bouncing slightly off of the concrete beneath a shocked Reinhardt and flying past Torbjörn. The latter is quicker to act, raising his rivet gun while shouting a curse in Swedish. The ammo does nothing this time, to his bewilderment, and it only causes a gap to appear in the smoke that easily fills back in. The smoke moves downward once again a distance away from the duo, only this time it begins swirling into a funnel shaped whirlwind. A solid shape forms from the shadows. </p><p>The Reaper re-emerges. He says nothing else as he raises both of his hands. Reinhardt and Torbjörn hardly have a second to react as the two Hellfire Shotguns on the ground crumble into the same black smoke and fly over to him. The weapons reform in his hands. </p><p>“I warned you.” </p><p>He fires. </p><p>Reinhardt snaps back into focus as he leaps forward, pushing his left form outwards and activating a shield. Torbjörn jumps back as an array of bullets with shadows tailing behind them crash against the shield’s surface. Reaper doesn’t relent, and the shots keep coming, one after another. </p><p>Torbjörn regains his composure and tries firing his rivet gun once more. But it’s to no avail. Every projectile is swallowed then deflected by the shadowy bullets of the Hellfire Shotguns. The few projectiles that do manage to get through the storm are easily dodged by Reaper. It’s becoming a battle of endurance for all three of them. Torbjörn hastily tries to refill his ammo. Reaper repeatedly tosses his shotguns to the side when his own ammo runs dry only to regenerate them a few seconds later and continue the assault. Reinhardt stands his ground, despite the numerous cracks beginning to form in the shield. </p><p>This can’t go on forever. The Reaper knows. But he won’t be the one to give. He can go on for much longer than they can. Because a dead man doesn’t need to rest. </p><p>(Gabriel Reyes was tired. So tired.)</p><p>Eventually, the shield is on its last legs. It only takes one final shot from Reaper to end this. The shield’s hexagonal, hardlight surface shatters into pieces like glass and scatters across the concrete before blinking out of existence. Reinhardt moves fast. He turns around and lunges towards Torbjörn, gathering his friend in his arms and using the rest of his large armor and body as a barrier. The shots from the Hellfires hit the armor. There’s no sign of serious damage to the armor’s backside, but the shots are leaving noticeable scorch marks upon impact. </p><p>“We need to retreat!” he hears Torbjörn shout over the chaos. </p><p>“No, we can’t—leave him to—his own devices!” Reinhardt shouts back in-between grunts from each hit. “Call for backup!” </p><p>Reaper taunts over them, “You act as if they’ll get here in time to save you!” </p><p>He waits for a witty comeback or an angry shout from either of them. But that doesn’t come. </p><p>Instead, something else does. </p><p>“REYES!” </p><p>Or rather, some<i>one</i> else. </p><p>Reaper stops firing. His neck cracks as he slowly turns his head to look over his shoulder. </p><p>In the shadows of the shipyard behind them, a new figure approaches from the dark. A beaming red visor is the only thing that illuminates them until they step out beneath the bright glow of the dock’s lamps. </p><p>Reaper half-expects Reinhardt and Torbjörn to take this opportunity to attack him again. But they don’t, for the two men are far too busy staring ahead in shock at the coming figure. </p><p>The figure is an older man, his hair aged to a silver color. He wears a white, blue, and red jacket. The combat boots he has equipped make his footsteps thud as he walks closer. And in his arms, he carries a heavy pulse rifle, fully-charged and ready to fire at any moment.</p><p>Behind his mask, the Reaper smirks. He turns around to fully face his target. </p><p>“You’re late, boy scout,” he says. </p><p>Soldier: 76. </p><p>(Jack Morrison.)</p><p>(Gabriel Reyes trusted Jack Morrison more than anyone else in the world.)</p><p>(Gabriel Reyes loved Jack Morrison.)</p><p>Reaper glances upward for a brief moment. He scans the surrounding area for a high point and for a familiar blue glow of a full face mask. His best guess is that she is hiding on top of one of the following surroundings: a crane, a control tower, or a mountain of crates. </p><p>Because where the Soldier goes…</p><p>The Shrike is sure to follow. </p><p>(Ana Amari.) </p><p>(Gabriel Reyes considered Ana Amari like the sister he never had.) </p><p>(Gabriel Reyes loved Ana Amari.) </p><p>“Morrison,” Torbjörn grimaces, his expression returns to the same fiery glare he gave Reaper earlier. </p><p>Reinhardt’s mouth is open, yet no words come out. </p><p>“Angela filled you in then. Good. That saves us time,” says Soldier: 76. He hoists the pulse rifle up and aims directly at Reaper. “Clear out you two, he’s mine.” </p><p>At this, Torbjörn goes red in the face, “Why you–! You’ve got some nerve! Disappearing for years and then coming back from the grave as if you can still order us around?!”</p><p>“Either leave or don’t get in my way,” the soldier tells him. “I don’t care which.” </p><p>“Why I ought to–” </p><p>“My friend,” Reinhardt pulls himself together just in time to cut Torbjörn off. He raises his hammer in a defensive position. “Now might be the time to call for the others.” </p><p>Torbjörn grits his teeth, more to say on the tip of his tongue, but he nods. As the engineer pulls out his communication device, he grumbles, “Don’t think this conversation is over, Morrison. There’s a whole line of people waiting to give you hell when we get out of here.” </p><p>“Fine. I’ll give you that, Lindholm,” Soldier: 76 sighs, keeping his position. “But this is my fight.” </p><p>“<i>Our</i> fight,” corrects Reaper as he raises his shotguns, “Who knows, Jack? Maybe this will be the night we can finally end this all.”</p><p>He will end it tonight. End it the way it should’ve been. </p><p>(Why did it end like this?) </p><p>A hologram tactical screen flickers in front of Soldier: 76’s visor, a target symbol perfectly lining up with Reaper’s position, as he replies, “My thoughts exactly.” </p><p>From behind him, Reaper hears Torbjörn receiving a signal. </p><p>“This is Lindholm. Come in—Brigitte, is that you?” There’s a pause. “We’re at the shipyard, Reaper spotted. I repeat, Reaper is here. We’ve also got some more unexpected company. Soldier—”</p><p>Reaper lets out a chortle, “<i>Brigitte</i>?”</p><p>The suddenness of it causes Torbjörn to stop in his tracks. Reaper can’t see his face, but he can only imagine the seering anger that only a protective father can make. He also imagines young Brigitte Lindholm on the other side of the comms, probably calling for her father in a panic, thinking something must’ve happened for him to stop speaking. </p><p>(Gabriel Reyes always knew how to press Torbjörn Lindholm’s buttons.) </p><p>Without facing him, Reaper says to Torbjörn, “I still can’t believe you let her run off with Reinhardt to Overwatch. Isn’t she your youngest?” He shakes his head, “You’re letting her march off into an early death. And you call yourself a father?” </p><p>“How dare you,” growls Torbjörn from behind. Reaper hears a scuffle against the concrete. Reinhardt must be holding him back. “Don’t you dare speak about my daughter like that, you miserable, traitorous piece of work! You have no right to speak, considering the hell you put <i>your</i> family through!”</p><p>Oh. </p><p>That was a mistake. </p><p>The last mistake Torbjörn Lindholm will ever make. </p><p>But it can wait. </p><p>Because there’s someone else to take care of first. </p><p>“Leave him alone, Reyes,” Soldier: 76 says, unmoving. “This is between us.” </p><p>“Well, I’ll leave that matter with this,” says Reaper nonchalantly. “At least some of us here were smart enough to keep their children out of our battles.” </p><p>Reaper eyes the area again as best he can without looking away from the soldier in front of him. He goes over his three options. Crane. Tower. Crates. </p><p>Eenie meenie…</p><p>Crane. </p><p>Just as it seems that the battle is about to begin between the two old soldiers, Reaper suddenly jerks his aim to the side and fires. In the darkness, he can’t see where exactly his shot has hit on the nearby crane. However, when he hears the sound of crackling, rusted metal, he knows it hit where he wanted it to. </p><p>“Isn’t that right, Ana?” </p><p>Reinhardt is agasp “She is here too?” </p><p>Soldier: 76 immediately fires a Helix rocket back as a reaction, which Reaper effortlessly dodges with a shadow-step. As he moves, he sees Reinhardt gripping Torbjörn to his side and accelerating out of the way. They manage to dive behind a nearby crate for cover just before the rocket hits the spot where they were standing before. A small explosion goes off and leaves a scorched crater left in the concrete. </p><p>“Watch where you’re aiming!” shouts Torbjörn. </p><p>Meanwhile, Reaper has found his own cover behind an empty maintenance building. He waits and listens, hearing the sounds of the soldier running closer to his position followed by the pulse rifle’s primary fire. When the latter sound ends for a brief moment, combined with the clicking noise of Soldier: 76 reloading his weapon, Reaper makes his move. </p><p>He leaps out into the open and fires his shotguns repeatedly at him. This time, it’s the soldier’s turn to jump for cover, which he finds by crouching down behind a parked hover-forklift. </p><p>When Reaper’s own ammo runs out, he ducks back to his cover and tosses the shotguns aside. It appears that the stalemate the two men are locked in will continue, until a much louder sound overpowers the area. A blaring groaning of metal echoes as they all glance upwards. </p><p>The crane has begun to tilt in the direction of the partly frozen river surrounding the shipyard. </p><p>And unless the Shrike had decided to move earlier, she will be going down with it, thinks the Reaper. </p><p>He swears he hears a curse from the soldier, but it’s far too muffled to be certain. </p><p>The former crusader, on the other hand, bellows at the top of his lungs, “<i>ANA!</i>” </p><p>Reinhardt immediately leaves the safety of his cover and charges in the direction of the crane. Torbjörn shouts his name in a panic and chases after him. Soldier: 76 stands up slightly, a moment of hesitation overcoming him. Reaper watches as he silently contemplates running after them or staying to finish this battle.</p><p>Then the soldier stands up and starts to head after them towards the crane. </p><p>But that won’t do. </p><p>That won’t do at all. </p><p>Really, Jack should’ve learned after Giza.</p><p>As fast as a viper launches at its prey, the Reaper collapses his body back into shadows and darts across the space between their covers. Right before Soldier: 76 can make any distance between them, Reaper reforms and raises his left arm. Said arm happens to be equipped with two sharp spikes extending from the knuckle area of the gauntlet. Said spikes are now slashing across the back of Soldier: 76’s jacket. </p><p>They tear immediately through the tough leather and break skin. Two trails of red liquid begin seeping through the shirt as the soldier yells in pain. The pulse rifle clatters to the ground. If this were a fight between two ordinary soldiers, this would be the end. </p><p>But they weren’t ordinary soldiers. </p><p>They were never ordinary soldiers. </p><p>(Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison were test subjects of the Soldier Enhancement Program. SEP told them they would evolve into strong heroes. SEP lied to them.) </p><p>Which is why the strike across the back wasn’t enough to slow down the soldier, who immediately turns around and throws his fist towards Reaper. The Reaper responds by grabbing a hold of Soldier: 76’s arm and spinning him quickly to the side before slamming him into the seat of the forklift. Reaper moves on top of him, attempting to pin down the soldier's arms with little success. The soldier is resilient and pushes against him. </p><p>A distance away, Reinhardt is currently pushing his entire body against the crane, trying to keep it from toppling over as long as possible. Torbjörn searches the rusted metal beams of the machinery, desperately trying to find the point of impact in the dark. </p><p>Soldier: 76 gains the advantage when he manages to launch his upper body forward and headbutt against the Reaper’s owl mask. Reaper grunts and stumbles back, but he has no time to recuperate when Solder: 76 grabs him by the edges of his hood and drags him across the forklift, causing both of them to tumble onto the concrete. </p><p>The two resort to an all out brawl, punches and kicks fly back and forth. They each attempt to chokehold the other, only for their opponent to easily slip from their grasp. </p><p>At one point, Reaper is able to grab Soldier: 76 by his hair and slam his head into the ground, remarking, “Face it. You’re getting too old for this.” </p><p>At another point, Soldier: 76 manages to throw Reaper upwards and land a kick in the back of his left leg, sending him down on one knee, as he shouts back, “Feeling’s mutual!” </p><p>As the fighting goes on, and the crane only gets closer to the river, the Reaper and the soldier are both left tattered, scattered, and bloody. Well, the bloody part is far more noticeable on the soldier than it is on the Reaper, who is not only still bleeding from the back, but he is also now sporting a new gash on his forehead. Not deep enough to scar. He had plenty of those already. </p><p>It ends with the sound of shattering glass. A biotic grenade has been thrown from above and breaks upon impact, releasing a yellow mist in the area between the two dueling men. Soldier: 76 doesn’t have much of a reaction to it. </p><p>Reaper on the other hand, feels a sting. He immediately dives back into the shadows and retreats a few feet away. </p><p>Soon after, a static sound crackles across the communication devices of all four men. </p><p>A voice speaks. </p><p>“It was a good shot, Gabriel. But I was on the control tower.” </p><p>The Shrike gracefully jumps from somewhere high and lands on top of a crate mountain. She wears a dark mask with light blue glowing edges, the mask is surrounded by a blue hijab and a brown hood. A biotic rifle is in her hands. When the mask opens, the face of Ana Amari looks down upon them all, a single eye scanning her surroundings. </p><p>“Jack,” she sternly says, “I told you to wait for me.” </p><p>Soldier: 76, still exhausted from the previous tussle, jerks a hand up and points over his shoulder to Reinhardt and Torbjörn, “Blame those two.” </p><p>Reinhardt, with the knowledge that his friend is not on the collapsing crane, swiftly moves away from it with Torbjörn. The crane buckles and falls partly into the river, breaking a few floating chunks of ice as it does. He and the engineer rush closer to the scene, raising their weapons up.</p><p>For the first time that night, Reaper sees Reinhardt genuinely smile as the large man exclaims once more, “Ana!” </p><p>She looks in his direction with a warm smile of her own. Her voice comes across the comms, “Hello Reinhardt. I must say, you’re looking well.” </p><p>“And you are looking as lovely as ever,” replies a now choked-up Reinhardt. </p><p>Torbjörn shakes his head and gives a defeated sigh, “Is there anyone else that would like to rise from the grave tonight?”</p><p>“Nice to see you too, Torbjörn,” Ana says with a chuckle. </p><p>It is here that the Reaper dawns upon a realization. He is outnumbered. Four against one. Even the soldier, now recovering from the wounds thanks to the biotic grenade, stands up to face him. </p><p>“Well now, Gabriel,” Ana calls down to him from her perch. “Tell me, what’s your next move?”</p><p>“Because if I were you,” finishes Soldier: 76, “I’d stand down and make this easy for everyone.” </p><p>Torbjörn shoots him another glare. Reinhardt readies his hammer with a solemn look. </p><p>The Reaper doesn’t speak. </p><p>Instead, once again, he laughs.</p><p>Fools. All of them. </p><p>This isn’t over.</p><p>It will never be over. </p><p>“Stand down, Gabriel,” says Ana, now aiming her rifle at him. “Please.”</p><p>The Reaper summons his Hellfire Shotguns back to his sides. The shadows gather at his feet and swarm around him like a twister until his entire body is covered. Red lights stream from his eyes. </p><p>“Die,” says the Reaper. </p><p>He fires. In the shadows, he can’t see any of their faces anymore. But that doesn’t matter. </p><p>“Die!”</p><p>It’s never going to end, as long as he is still here. Even if it means going through them. </p><p>He fires. </p><p>“DIE!”</p><p>(Because Overwatch started with the five of them.)</p><p>Because Overwatch will end with the five of them. </p><p>Once and for all.</p><p>(His past always came back to haunt him. And he would never be able to chase the ghosts away.) </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That feeling when you keep having to open the Overwatch wiki because you can't remember the names of these damn weapons.  (╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻</p><p>The alternate title to this chapter is "Worst Family Reunion Ever." </p><p>Haha, anyway, this was a fun one to write! I normally don't write many fight scenes (because they are hard and require a LOT of Google searches for someone who's not too familiar with combat or weapons, I'm still a bit iffy on the fighting in this drabble because it really only lasts for about two paragraphs) so it's a bit different from my usual stuff. I was tempted to label this chapter as "R76" because I sorta imply it a bit throughout the story, but I decided not to because the fic itself is more about the bitter reunion between the original Strike Team than it is about Gabriel and Jack's relationship. But I WILL be adding R76 to the tags because I plan to do at least one ship R76 drabble in the future. What can I say? I love dramatic edgy grandpas. </p><p>Also this is the first fic I've written with Reaper, Torbjörn, Soldier 76, and Ana. The only member of the original Strike Team I've had show up previously is Reinhardt, but that's mainly because he's one of the people to answer the recall, and I REALLY like the Recall crew characters. Also Reinhardt is a sweetie and I love his character. But I'm so happy I finally got the other members in a fic, because I love them too. Especially Ana. She is a queen and I will have to include her more in future stuff. I at least tried to show her some love here by giving her a badass entrance hehe. </p><p>Okay I'm done rambling. Thank you for reading! :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Midnight, Baptiste (Halloween Prompts)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>These next three stories were from a fun short-fic writing exchange I did with a group of Overwatch fic writers! Hosted by my awesome friend <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathblossoms">deathblossoms</a> in her Halloween server! We were all given the same prompt and paired up with each other to decide who would write for what character. </p>
<p>So this particular prompt was "Midnight" and Baptiste was requested by the wonderful <a href="https://twitter.com/Morimereyes">Mori</a>!</p>
<p>I hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Years on the move had trained Baptiste to recognize the signs of someone catching up to him. Sometimes it would be the strange coincidence of spotting the same person blending into the crowds wherever he went. Other times all it took was a quick eavesdropping onto local communication lines to pick up a voice asking around for him. But if he was really lucky, his notice to get moving would be a single text from an old friend. Of course, Sombra never seemed to be in the mood to send him a detailed report about where to go or to avoid. Maybe it was because she didn’t want anyone figuring it out should the (very unlikely) situation occur where someone got into their messages, or maybe even after all these years she still liked to make things interesting for him. Sombra liked him, and he liked her. But Sombra also liked puzzles. Maybe she was confident enough in him to figure out her hints at just the right moment. He liked to think it was a mix of all three. Especially when her vague hints or coded messages would instead be replaced by a single image. There was the time in San Juan where a palm tree emoji had alerted him to a drone following him over the beach. Another time in Havana, she’d sent him a blurry screenshot of a street sign right before he turned a street corner and spotted a Talon enforcer pacing back and forth on a nearby hotel balcony. So when, around midnight as he walked along the rain-soaked streets of Paris, France, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, he expected something similar. Upon unlocking his messages on his encrypted app, there was one new notification. And just like the previous times, there was a single image. One that caused his eyes to immediately scan the rooftops of all the buildings around him while his free hand gripped his hidden immortality field.</p>
<p>A spider emoji.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Haunting, Junkrat (Halloween Prompts)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The prompt was "Haunting" and Junkrat was requested by the wonderful <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jangamoo/pseuds/Jangamoo">Jangamoo</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>No matter where in the world you are, you’ll always find ghost stories. Even in the barren Outback, still lingering with radioactive decay, the Junkers had found tales of vengeful spirits to pass on. Junkrat considered himself a man of science—well no, more of a man of pyrotechnics—<i>combative</i> pyrotechnics—semantics aside, he was a man who didn’t believe in the fantastical all that much. The only reason, in his eyes, to even entertain the thought of ghosts was if there was treasure involved. Plenty of ghost stories always had a hidden chest full of gold, or a long-lost fortune buried deep within the catacombs of some suit’s great-great-great-great-great-whatever grandfather’s cousin of his uncle’s family estate. However, for the most part, there was no need to go looking for ghost gold when there was plenty of gold to steal from the living. But there was one exception to this mindset: the Devourer of Riches. </p>
<p>The Devourer of Riches was a ghost story that haunted the dreams of Junkrat. The story goes that he comes for those unfortunate Junkers who find rare treasures out in the wasteland and hordes it to himself. And the Devourer of Riches doesn’t just steal the treasure, no, no, he swallows it whole into an endless void, never to be seen again. Oh, and uh, the victim usually ends up dead in the story too, but the treasure! There were three signs to watch out for that signaled the malevenont spirit’s arrival. Number one, the sound of a lone hook clawing at the door. Number two, a howling wind that blows open every entrance to a hideout. And number three—actually, number three is the ghost staring down right into your face and screaming. Most people in the stories didn’t make it to number three. </p>
<p>But Junkrat would never give up his precious gold without a fight, not even to a supposedly unbeatable ghost. What was a ghost to tell him what to do with his hard earned treasure?! So when he heard the first sign, a scraping sound at the door, he immediately woke up and shook the shoulder of his partner-in-crime sleeping next to him. </p>
<p>“Roadhog, Roadhog!” He urged in a frantic whisper, “Wake up! We’ve got a poltergeist to blow up, mate, come on you big—!”</p>
<p>Junkrat was met with Roadhog’s fist directly impacting him in the face, knocking him out cold. As well as knocking him right off of his cot too. </p>
<p>And thus, both Junkers slept soundly after all.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Misfortune, Reinhardt (Halloween Prompts)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The prompt was "Misfortune" and Reinhardt was requested by the wonderful <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathblossoms">deathblossoms</a>!</p><p>This fic also doubles as a sort of "Bad End" to Junkenstein's Revenge.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When he heard that final scream of agony, the Lord of Adlersbrunn felt his life’s worth of failures finally catch up with him, weighing on his shoulders as if they were made of iron. His failure to see Junkenstein as more than an eccentric inventor, to see what evil the mad doctor was truly capable of. His failure to stop the Witch of the Wilds before she lured yet another pawn into her wicked schemes. His failure to be strong enough to fight the monsters off himself. His failure to have to rely on the aid of old friends and complete strangers. His failure to save even one life, as the last Wanderer fell in battle. </p><p>He was a failure of a lord, of a protector. </p><p>Just as he was all those years ago…</p><p>“You’re watching me now, aren’t you, my liege?” He muttered to himself, rising from his throne. He sighed with a weary smile, shaking his head, “You’ll certainly have a lot to say about my time as lord. I can almost hear you chastising me for my foolishness right now. But you’ll have to wait a bit longer, old friend.” </p><p>The Lord of Adlersbrunn made his way to a display that rested across from his throne. A large armor stand, with the giant-sized battle armor he once wore into battle in his youths. In the empty knight’s armor hands, was a large hammer. The Lord of Adlersbrunn gently curled his fingers around the handle before gripping it tightly, and he rose it from the display. It was as if his younger self was handing his weapon to him. </p><p>He heard the explosion tearing apart the castle door. The zomnics were flooding in, making their way up the empty staircases towards the throne room. It wouldn’t be long now. There were no guards stationed to protect him, as the ones who survived the initial attacks were ordered by their lord to help the remaining villagers flee from Adlersbrunn. Hopefully, they were miles away by now. He hoped, desperately, that none of them would emulate the foolish pride of his youth and turn around to come back for him. </p><p>The wood of the throne room doors cracked. Tiny shards of the wood splintering onto the cobblestone floor. The zomnics would tear through these doors much easier than the ones outside. </p><p>He bowed his head, “Brave souls, all of you Wanderers, I hope you will find peace now.” </p><p>The Lord of Adlersbrunn readied his hammer and returned to stand in front of his throne. </p><p>“As we promised, Balderich,” He then said in a whisper. </p><p>He could hear the laughter of the mad doctor echoing through the castle’s chambers. </p><p>“Live with honor,” The Lord of Adlersbrunn raised his hammer, for the final time in his long life. “Die with glory.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Young Soldiers (R76)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was another request by my wonderful friend <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathblossoms">deathblossoms</a>! The prompt was: "“I’m just.. tired. I’m tired of everyone’s lives lying on my shoulders.”</p>
<p>She sent me this prompt back in September, but I ended up procrastinating finishing it due to life stuff like college and...other recent events. 2020, man, what a year. Thank you Buu for being so patient with me!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>When Jack Morrison was a child, he’d always known the best spots to hide when eavesdropping on his parents in the kitchen of their farmhouse. His favorite had been at the top of the staircase, far enough away that they wouldn’t be able to see him, yet still close enough that he could make out every word. It was the place where he’d found out all sorts of secrets that a child shouldn’t know, such as where his mother was hiding the Christmas presents, what kind of cake his father was planning to make for his birthday, or how much both of his parents wanted to strangle their neighbor, Mr. Clark, for letting his teenage kids run around in their fields and leaving beer bottles everywhere...again. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Of course, his favorite conversations to listen in on had been the ones where his parents would talk about planning a family road trip at some point. They talked of a few destinations, California, Arizona, New York, to name a few. But the one that both of his parents seemed to agree on was Florida. Neither Jack nor his father had ever been to a beach in their lives, but his mother was a different story. She had spent her childhood years running up and down the boardwalk of Ocean City, New Jersey before her parents’ restaurant had fallen under and the family moved out west. She’d always wanted to take her spouse and her son there and spend a day or more by the Atlantic Ocean once again. Florida wouldn’t exactly be her childhood home in New Jersey, but it did have beaches.  His father on the other hand, was more interested in the many tourist attractions the state had to offer, such as the museums, the national parks, or the resorts. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Aside from the hour-long car rides to his grandparents’ home out in Springfield, Ohio, Jack had never been on a trip outside of the state of Indiana. So when his parents would talk of that supposed trip to Florida, young Jack Morrison would daydream about jumping into a perfectly blue ocean, going on a real life fishing boat, or if he was really lucky, getting a day at one of those massive theme parks some of his classmates would brag about when they were asked what they did over summer vacation. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>But as the years went by, the demands of the farm only grew larger, and every jar of coins and dollars saved up for a trip was opened to pay for a new tractor or to repair a gaping hole in the farmhouse’s roof after a bad storm. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Jack Morrison stopped hiding at the top of the stairs and started helping out his parents in the fields. He accepted the reality, even after the rousing speeches at his high school graduation, that this was where the world needed him to be. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>And then came the Omnic Crisis. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Maybe the world needed him somewhere else after all. </i>
</p><hr/>
<p>The Overwatch Strike Team landed in the Everglades at dawn. They reached the relief camp on the outskirts of Miami around midnight. If it were any other circumstance, Morrison would’ve taken the arrival at a place with a good signal to give his parents a call and have a laugh about finally making it to Florida. </p>
<p>But no such call happened. </p>
<p>Instead, Morrison sat on a bench near a small supply tent. It was the farthest away from the crowds, and the only spot where he wouldn’t be recognized. He’d taken the time instead to let himself curl over and rest his aching head in his arms over his lap. The hot, muggy air attracted mosquitoes and every so often he would feel a tiny pinch as they feasted upon the blood of his sweaty and dirt-covered arms, but he made no move to swat them away. All he wanted in that moment of peace was to ignore the world. Just for a little bit. </p>
<p>“Hey, boy scout.”</p>
<p>Morrison heard those words alongside suddenly feeling a cold surface poking against his cheek. He opened his eyes. A canteen, with droplets of water dripping down the plastic container, was lightly pressed against his face. His eyes then followed upwards from the hand closed around the canteen’s lid to the grey camouflage sleeve until finally reaching the face of Gabriel Reyes. </p>
<p>“Drink something,” said Reyes. “You’re gonna get dehydrated.” </p>
<p>Morrison sat upright and took the canteen. As he uncapped it and drank, letting fresh cool water run down his throat, Reyes moved and sat next to him on the bench. </p>
<p>“I just got word, they said he’ll be alright,” Reyes continued, folding his arms and settling into a more comfortable position. “They’re flying in an ID physician to check on him though. His wound got infected and god knows what kind of bacteria is in that swamp water, so they want to play it safe. We might be here for another day.” </p>
<p>“Good, that’s good to hear. I mean, not the infection part, but that he’s okay,” said Morrison, wiping his lips with his hand. “Did they let you see him?”</p>
<p>Reyes shook his head, “He was still under when they gave me the news. Figured I’d let the big guy sleep before we give him hell for making us worry.” </p>
<p>“Oh,” was all Morrison replied with. He didn’t look up to meet Reyes’ look when he turned to him. His eyes were focused on the canteen in his hands. The interior was too dark to see any of the water, but he could hear splashing about as he swished it around in a circular motion. </p>
<p>He heard Reyes sigh, “I see you’re still moping, then.” </p>
<p>“I’m not moping,” Morrison groaned. </p>
<p>“Sure you’re not,” Reyes replied sarcastically, “you’re only sitting here alone in the dark far away from any human contact because you wanted to feed the mosquitos, right?” </p>
<p>As if right on cue, a tiny mosquito flew right in front of Reyes’ face. With the reflex expected of a super soldier, Reyes swatted the insect with perfect accuracy, sending the bug hurling towards the dirt until it regained its balance in the air and continued to buzz about. </p>
<p>Morrison said, “If you’re here to give me crap about what happened—”</p>
<p>“I told you. Reinhardt’s fine, so you can stop worrying now,” Reyes sharply cut him off. “I’m here to make sure you’re not beating yourself up about it. It was out of your control when it happened, and it’s out of your control now. The longer you’re stuck on it, the more it’s going to drag you down. And frankly, boy scout? That’s the last thing we need if we’re going to reach the city.” </p>
<p>Morrison pushed the canteen back into Reyes’ hands and stood up with a grunt, “Thanks for your concern, asshole.” </p>
<p>Reyes stood up after him, “Jack, wait—”</p>
<p>“I’m going to bed,” said Morrison as he started to walk off, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder. </p>
<p>“Jack.” </p>
<p>All traces of dryness and wit had dropped from Reyes’ voice. It was replaced with the sternness he’d come to know from their days in the military together, back when Reyes was a senior officer. Yet in that sternness, there was compassion, a hard-to-see softness that few outside of their group got to witness, beneath the layers. He’d grown to hear it from their days in the SEP, when his former rank didn’t matter much anymore, when the two shared a dorm together, and when the day came that Reyes was asked to bring someone along with him for the world’s plan B to stop the Omnics. </p>
<p>Morrison looked over his shoulder and met Reyes’ eyes. </p>
<p>“Please. Talk to me, Jack.” </p>
<p>He turned around, grabbing Reyes’ hand and moving it off his shoulder, “What’s there to talk about? Like you said, he’s fine. I shouldn’t worry about it anymore, right?”</p>
<p>“Look, I’m sorry,” Reyes said, pulling his hand away and letting it fall back to side, “I didn’t mean to be a prick. I just don’t want you blaming yourself for something that wasn’t your fault.” </p>
<p>“It was my fault!” </p>
<p>“How?” Reyes folded his arms, “Tell me. How was it your fault? Did you hide that Bastion unit in the swamp? Did you tell it to aim right at the crack in the big guy’s armor when he decided to run ahead without us?” </p>
<p>Morrison grit his teeth, “No.” </p>
<p>“Then please, elaborate. Because I’m not seeing your argument here.” </p>
<p>“Because—!” Morrison started to raise his voice again, but one look at Reyes’ undeterred expression made him stop. He then spoke at a lower volume, “Because it’s my job to make sure we get to places in one piece.” </p>
<p>He reached behind and grabbed something from his belt. It was a small, grey can-shaped device with the signature plus-sign symbol of medical professionals. To the untrained eye, it might have looked like a closed camping flashlight or a thermostat. But in reality, it was what the doctors had called a “biotic emitter.” It was the prototype of a device meant for what the U.N. was calling, “the greatest advancements in medical science” in history. Just another way they were trying to find “bright sides” to this global hellscape that the Omnic Crisis thrusted them in. </p>
<p>“That’s why they gave me these things, isn’t it?” said Morrison. “To keep everyone alive. But Reinhardt nearly died, and if we hadn’t reached this place as soon as we did—” </p>
<p>Reyes cut him off, “Jack, you’re not a medic. You weren’t trained as one.”</p>
<p>“But I’m the closest thing we have,” Morrison shook his head, “and I wasn’t enough.” </p>
<p>Morrison opened his palm and let the biotic emitter roll from his hand. It hit the ground unceremoniously with a thud. Not enough of an impact to break it, of course, but mud was already beginning to cling to its sides and stain it. A few of the remaining mosquitoes got curious and buzzed around it. Reyes watched Morrison return to the bench and hold his head in hands. He picked the emitter up from the ground, shook some of the mud off, and joined Morrison on the bench once more. </p>
<p>“I’m just.. tired. I’m tired of everyone’s lives lying on my shoulders.” </p>
<p>“They’re not just on your shoulders,” Reyes said. He used his sleeve to wipe at the traces of mud still on the emitter. “If you really think you’re to blame for what happened to Rein, then so am I. I’m the leader of this team after all. If any of you failed, then I failed you.” </p>
<p>Morrison sat up, “Gabe, no, it doesn’t work like that.” </p>
<p>“Oh yes it does,” Reyes retorted. “Teamwork 101, when one fails, we all fail. So, if you’re really insistent on shouldering this, then I’m doing it with you. Or, option two.” </p>
<p>Reyes finished wiping the emitter and held it out back to Morrison as he continued, “We chalk this up to something we can learn from, and do better next time. Which do you prefer, boy scout?”</p>
<p>Morrison looked to Reyes, then to the emitter, then back to Reyes. The answer seemed obvious and yet something refused to deliver it, “I…”</p>
<p>“Jack, just pick option two, I know that’s what you’re going to say, and this stupid thing is heavy,” said Reyes with an eyeroll and a smirk. </p>
<p>“Fine,” that finally got a chuckle out of Morrison. After which he shook his head, grabbed the emitter back, and smiled, “You’re an ass.” </p>
<p>Reyes laughed and leaned back, his arms shifting behind his head in a relaxed position, “Shut up. You love me.” </p>
<p>Morrison leaned back as well, looking up at the hot, muggy, yet starry Florida night. The one that they were now watching together. It was funny. When Jack Morrison thought of a trip to Florida, he’d never wanted to go alone. Whether it would be with his family, or someone special, he wanted it to be a shared experience. This may have not been a beach trip, but...</p>
<p>“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” </p>
<p>It was still with someone special after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"And they loved each other." -Jeff Kaplan</p>
<p>They sure did, Mr. Jeff Kaplan. They sure did. :)</p>
<p>And then nothing bad ever happened to them again. THE END.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. A Year's End, Mei (Winter Prompts)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>With December rolling around, the Discord I'm part of decided to do some more festive writing prompts! So much like the Halloween prompts, we were all given the same prompt, then paired with each other to give everyone a character. The prompt this is time was "A Year's End" and Mei was given to me by the wonderful <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theoroark/pseuds/Theoroark">Theoroark</a>! I hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mei remembered the Lunar New Year celebrations she shared with her family. In her younger years, Mei and her mother would always take the train from Xi’an to the smaller rural town that her grandparents lived in. She reminisced about how she practically leapt off the train to run into the open arms of her grandmother calling her name. By the time her mother would catch up to her on the platform of the tiny station, Mei would be receiving a head pat from her grandfather while he commented on how big she’d grown over the year. The four would then begin the walk back to the house, passing through the town covered head to toe in the color red and the smells of all the various dishes being cooked by the street vendors wafting in the air. At their reunion dinner later in the night, the table would be filled at every corner with her grandmother’s recipes, each dish cooked carefully and prepared in the hours prior. Even if Mei tried to stay up late with the rest of them, her full stomach from dinner and the lulling warmth of her grandfather’s lap, as they all watched the Gala Show on the holovid, would eventually send her off to sleep. Her mother would gently scoop her up in her arms and tuck her into bed, and in the morning, a frustrated Mei would wake up and swear to stay awake the next year. But that frustration was gone as quick as it came when she remembered the festivities waiting for her later in the day, and she would rush out of bed to greet her mother and grandparents at breakfast. </p>
<p>In her years working for Overwatch, Mei grew used to celebrating the Gregorian calendar New Year as well with her teammates and colleagues. While most of them would head home to be with their families, Opara, Torres, and Arrhenius would always stick around on the base. The four of them would head into the city of Geneva and share a fun night at a local bar, clinking their glasses together when the clock struck midnight and the fireworks would go off in the skies above them outside. She even remembered the one year where Opara and Arrhenius challenged each other to a drinking contest, leaving her and Torres to carry them back to base and provide the aspirin the next morning for their hangovers. </p>
<p>Both celebrations shared a common trait. They were smaller than one would expect of a New Years celebration. Mei noticed it in both cases as she grew older, but she never minded. The size didn’t matter. All that mattered were the smiles on her companions’ faces and the laughter that would echo into the night. </p>
<p>This year’s celebration felt small too. Even if there were technically more people with her this time on Watchpoint Gibraltar. This year, on the Gregorian New Year, she sat with Lena, Winston, Sojourn, Genji, Fareeha, and Jesse on a large picnic blanket they’d set up on one of the old observation decks of the base. From there, they not only got the perfect view of the town of Gibraltar below, but also of the fireworks show that said town was putting on in celebration of the clock striking midnight just a few minutes ago. The cheers of the townspeople were almost loud enough to overpower the roaring ocean crashing against the rocks of the coast. Of course, nothing could overpower the applause and cheers from her friends as they marveled at a particular display of fireworks going off. Lena had found her own best viewing spot on Winston’s back, the latter not minding her presence there until her excitement sometimes made his glasses slide down his face. Sojourn was lying flat on her back, her arms resting beneath her head, smiling at a peaceful Genji, who sat nearby warm from the night air in his hoodie. At another corner of the set-up, Fareeha and Jesse sat next to each other, both of them wrapped up in throw blankets. McCree’s head was beginning to droop with drowsiness, despite the noise around him. A few empty champagne glasses near him was more than enough to know the cause. Pharah rolled her eyes with a smile and nudged him awake. She then teased him for nodding off for the third time, to which he responded with some comment about how he was allowed to drink a lot tonight. </p>
<p>Mei smiled at their banter before returning her gaze to the fireworks. At least, she <i>was</i> going to return her gaze to the fireworks. But something caught her eye. Or rather, the lack of something caught her eye. An empty space on the picnic blanket. Someone was missing. She looked around the observation deck for only a second before finding that missing person. </p>
<p>Hana. </p>
<p>Without the notice of anyone else in the party, Hana had moved from the picnic blanket to stand up at the edge of the deck, her arms flung over the railing. Her head was tilted upwards as if she was watching the fireworks as well, but Mei knew better. There was a distance in the young woman’s eyes. They may have been in the direction of the fireworks, but they were really looking somewhere else. Somewhere far away. It was tempting to simply get up and ask her if everything was okay. But Mei also knew better in that regard. At Hana’s age, getting straight to the point, ironically, wouldn’t help matters. Instead, Mei figured out a bridge for conversation. Hana’s only shield against the chilly winds of the night was her pink, D.Va brand bunny hoodie. Surely, she would need some extra protection against the cold.  </p>
<p>Mei stood up to walk over. The others hardly noticed her leaving, too enraptured by the show in the starry sky. On her way, she grabbed one of the folded up extra throw blankets they’d brought and shifted it in her arms.</p>
<p>Hana immediately snapped her head back down when she noticed Mei suddenly next to her. </p>
<p>“Oh, hey, Dr. Zh—Mei,” said Hana. She was still getting used to calling Mei by her first name, ever since she’d gotten permission from her. </p>
<p>Mei offered her the blanket, “Are you cold?”</p>
<p>“No,” Hana shook her head, “but thanks.” </p>
<p>“Okay, just checking,” said Mei. She slowly started to turn to head back to the blanket. “Let me know if you change your mind.” </p>
<p>“Wait—,” Hana started, causing Mei to immediately stop. “Um, Mei?”</p>
<p>“Yes?”</p>
<p>Hana turned around, her back now leaning against the railing, and folded her arms, “Do you ever...I don’t know, think about how much things can change in a year?”</p>
<p>Mei smiled and nodded, “All the time.” </p>
<p>“It’s weird to think about, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“No,” Mei stepped back to stand next to her, “not weird at all. It can feel overwhelming sometimes, though.”</p>
<p>Hana quietly nodded in agreement. </p>
<p>“But you know,” Mei continued, “I think even the hardest years can have their happy moments. Don’t you think?” </p>
<p>Hana hesitated, but then slowly nodded again, “Yeah. It wasn’t all bad, was it?”</p>
<p>“Not at all,” Mei repeated. She gave Hana another one of her warm smiles, “I got to meet you and everyone else here, after all. And...even though we messed up sometimes, we helped a lot of people.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, we did, didn’t we?” Hana moved herself off the railing and turned around one last time, tilting her head back up to the fireworks. After a particularly loud set of sparkling fireworks went off quickly in a row, there was a brief moment of quiet afterwards. In that moment, Mei was able to hear the words Hana muttered. “Uh, on second thought, could I have that blanket?” </p>
<p>Mei giggled and handed it to her. Hana smiled and wrapped it around her shoulders, shifting it slightly so that the bunny ears on her pink hoodie didn’t get tangled up. </p>
<p>“...Thanks Mei,” Hana said in a soft tone that made it clear it wasn’t just the blanket she was grateful for. </p>
<p>“You’re welcome, Hana,” Mei said. When she saw Hana’s smile, she knew that another small celebration was full of that same joy of the previous ones. “Happy New Year.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Penguins</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So this short fic has a story to go along with it! </p>
<p>You see, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathblossoms">deathblossoms</a> and I have this fun and wholesome AU we made up that we like to call our "Coffee Buds" AU. The gist of it is that pre-fall of Overwatch, Reyes and Mei somehow end up meeting each other and becoming unlikely friends that hang out and chat over coffee in the break room. Along with a slightly longer fic that we have in the works, this fic is an extension of that AU! And around Christmas time, Buu drew me an adorable sketch of Mei in her penguin skin and I just <i>had</i> to write a fic to go along with it as a thank you to her. So this is that fic! I hope you enjoy it! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I still don’t understand why you feel the need to do that.”</p>
<p>“Gabriel please,” Mei said with a roll of her eyes, “just because I don’t specialize in zoology doesn’t mean I can’t help out. I study their ecosystem after all, so I know a thing or two about their behavior.” </p>
<p>Reyes shook his head, “No, not that. I get that part. What I don’t understand is why you feel the need to do it in that get-up.” </p>
<p>He pointed to Mei’s outfit. She was fully dressed in what she called her “penguin suit.” It was made up of a black-and-white parka and matching pants. The white boots of the suit were given yellow carvings to resemble flippers. The hood of the parka resembled a penguin’s head, albeit a much more cartoony image of a penguin. It took all of Reyes’ willpower not to stare too long at the strange, bulging cartoon eyes that rested right above the fake beak. It was almost like being watched by something that came from the beyond. Regardless, it looked absolutely ridiculous, but Reyes still had to give her credit for the attention to detail. But not out loud. </p>
<p>Besides, the three emperor penguins that were currently snuggled around Mei didn’t seem to mind. </p>
<p>According to Mei, the trio were siblings, two brothers, named Prince and Polo, and a sister, named Plum. Mei had picked out their names. (Because of course she did.) They were housed in a large open room made to resemble Antarctica, due to Ecowatch’s zoology sector being particular about their animals’ habitats being as accurate as possible. There were holographic walls displaying an icy mountainous landscape background, white floors to imitate snow, faux icy rocks for climbing, and a medium-sized pool as dark blue as the Arctic ocean itself. But perhaps the greatest similarity to the Earth’s coldest climate was the air. Air vents in the room blasted out freezing temperatures, so much so that the moment they entered, their breath began coming out of them as thick clouds of steam. Mei seemed just fine inhabiting the frigid environment but Reyes, who dreaded winter and anything close to it, immediately huddled into himself. He tightened the orange and brown scarf he’d brought around his neck, bringing it up closer to his face. </p>
<p>“They feel more comfortable when I wear this,” explained Mei, giving a pet to Prince on her right, who was trying to grab her attention by pushing his head under her arm. </p>
<p>“So, what, you’re blending in with them? Hoping you’re gonna get welcomed into the colony?” </p>
<p>“Well technically, it’d be more accurate to describe them as a <i>waddle</i>. Colony implies that they’re a large breeding group, but it’s only the three of them in here,” Mei corrected him before continuing. “Anyway to answer your question, you’re sort of right? They already like me, but they seem to respond better when I wear the suit. I think it’s because…” </p>
<p>She trailed off. A light shade of pink was forming across her cheeks as she nervously adjusted her glasses. Obviously, he had to push further. </p>
<p>“Because…?” prompted Reyes, a smirk beginning to form. </p>
<p>Mei let out an awkward laugh before she said, “You see, we rescued them when they were only eggs. We found them on a broken chunk of ice floating out in the water. The parents were nowhere to be found, so we took them back to the outpost and...well, they hatched. And when they did, I happened to be the first living being they saw and—” </p>
<p>“Oh my god,” Reyes cut her off as the realization hit him like a cold chunk of ice, the smirk dropping and being immediately replaced by a look of pure bewilderment, “they think you’re their mom.” </p>
<p>“They imprinted on me, yes.” </p>
<p>“Wow, that’s…” said Reyes, finding his words, “not what was I expecting to hear today.” </p>
<p>Mei giggled as she stood up, the penguins backing off from the shift of movement but sticking close to her, “The zoologists in charge want to rehabilitate them so they can be returned to the wild. But for now, we’re keeping them separate from the more wild penguins since they’ve been in captivity for a long time.” </p>
<p>She then made her way over to a small bucket set up by the pool. The penguins followed her in a neat little line, honking excitedly as they knew exactly what the bucket meant. In the bucket there were mounds of Antarctic silverfish resting in ice cubes, or to a penguin, the perfect meal. </p>
<p>“Okay, feeding time!” Mei announced happily to the penguin trio as she held up the first fish. </p>
<p>Reyes watched Mei hand the first fish to Plum. The penguin swallowed it whole while flapping her arms and jerking her head up and down, that funny way penguins, and birds in general, eat their food. Mei handed the next two fish to the hungry Prince and Polo, who repeated the same motion as their sister. While the penguins were busy chowing down, Mei looked to Reyes once more. </p>
<p>“Do you want to try?” She said, waving him over. </p>
<p>Reyes shook his head, “I think I’m good.” </p>
<p>“Suit yourself,” Mei shrugged and turned her eyes back to the penguins, who were finished with their first batch of fish and asking for more. </p>
<p>Reyes simply kept staring as Mei continued. He listened as she said gentle compliments and encouragement to the penguins, little things like, “What a good boy you are!” or, “A yummy fishy, just for you!” It was funny, aside from the fact that Snowball didn’t eat like these penguins, she talked to them the same way she talked to her little drone. Maybe that’s just how Mei-Ling Zhou saw anything small, helpless, or alone, something she needed to shower with love. </p>
<p>He couldn’t blame those penguins for seeing her as a maternal figure. She would be a great mom if she ever settled down one day. </p>
<p>
  <s>Unlike him. </s>
</p>
<p>He shook his head to shoo away those buried insecurities and that sharp guilt. Not now. It was the first day off he’d had in years, a completely unplanned one too. He shouldn’t have felt guilty for being unable to make time for...them. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t. </p>
<p><s>He did.</s> </p>
<p>“<i>Achoo!</i>” </p>
<p>The small sneeze broke Reyes from his thoughts before they could spiral any further. Mei was currently rubbing her nose from the sneeze and sniffling, dangling the fish bucket in the other hand. The sneeze had apparently frightened the penguins a bit, as they were a bit farther away from her. </p>
<p>“Sorry, sorry!” She hurriedly said, reaching for another fish to draw them back, “Didn’t mean to scare you guys. Here you go.” </p>
<p>The fish immediately won them back over. Mei giggled at the sight, though she still sniffled, and Reyes couldn’t help but notice how red her nose looked. </p>
<p>Of course. Mei loved the snow and cold, but even she wasn’t invincible against the second most annoying cold. The common one. Working in a place that was cold constantly probably wasn’t doing her any favors. </p>
<p>Reyes sighed and made his way over to her, carefully stepping around the penguins as to not interrupt them. Before she could say anything, Reyes had already pulled off his scarf and offered it to her. </p>
<p>“Little extra protection before you get pneumonia,” he said casually. </p>
<p>She smiled warmly and took it, wrapping it cozily around her hood, “Thank you, Gabriel.” </p>
<p>He smiled back and nodded.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Nail in the Coffin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I was having a terrible case of writer's block the other day so my good friend, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathblossoms">deathblossoms</a>, gave me an excellent prompt to spark my creativity again! Basically the prompt was McCree dealing with grief in some form or another. And because I love making my favorite cowboy sad, it was the perfect prompt mwhahaha.  Thank you Buu! :3 </p><p>But with that being said! This is definitely one of my more darker and heavier drabbles I've written. I'm going to provide a trigger warning here, so if any of these topics deeply upset you, I strongly encourage you to skip this chapter. Stay safe, friends! &lt;3</p><p>  <b>TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:</b></p><p>  <b>Alcoholism, Death, PTSD, Trauma, Self-loathing, Explosions, Fire, Broken glass, Canon-typical violence, Cursing, Implied Vomiting</b></p><p>Okay, that's all! If you need me to add any other trigger warnings that I might have missed, please let me know in the comments and I will gladly add it to this list. </p><p>If you are reading this chapter, then I hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s been about eight months since the attack on Mina Liao’s lab. Seven months since her funeral. Six months since Echo’s quarantine. Five months since he failed his mission to find Ana Amari in Poland. Four months since he’d sat with Fareeha at her mother’s funeral. Three months since Gabriel Reyes called him into his office one night to tell him something important. Two months since he left a letter on Reyes’s desk, a final farewell to him and Overwatch. </p><p>The closing words of the letter weren’t kind. </p><p>Now, <s>Jesse McCree</s> Joel Morricone sits at his table in a quiet one-bedroom apartment located in Santa Fe, New Mexico. He places a freshly microwaved TV dinner on the table’s surface next to his open laptop, a half-typed editorial opened on the screen. </p><p>Joel picks up a fork and stabs it into the Salisbury steak. Lifting it up from the plastic plate, he notices how the gravy runs across the meat like a thick slime. It tastes about as good as it looks. </p><p>He wonders how Reinhardt is taking his retirement. Standing up or sitting down? Knowing the old man, he assumes the former. He wonders if Fareeha talks to her father again after they had a long reconciliation at Ana’s funeral. He wonders what kind of work Angela is able to do without Overwatch’s resources. He wonders if Genji is somewhere safe tonight.</p><p>He wonders what Reyes is doing right now. </p><p>Joel tosses the fork aside. It clatters across the tabletop as he slams his laptop shut and gets up. He walks to the door, grabs his sweatshirt, and goes out. </p><p>He needs a drink.</p>
<hr/><p>It’s been one year since the explosion of the Swiss base. Reyes and Morrison were killed at the center of it. Two of Overwatch’s founders are gone. One is labeled a traitor and suspected to be responsible for the destruction. </p><p>When they died, they took Overwatch down with them.</p><p>Even with all the time passed, all of the news stations still talk about it. Every so often, familiar faces will appear on the evening and late-night segments. Both former-Overwatch and former-Blackwatch agents alike. Always next to their picture is a list of accusations from their time as an agent. The worst part is knowing that some of them are true. </p><p>Other times, the world is reminded of the ripple effect the collapse causes. The shutdown of Overwatch’s various branches, from Ecowatch to the Medical Science Division, invites a world of struggles for the global community. People are left without stable jobs. Power vacuums cause less-than-trustworthy private corporations to worm their way in as replacements. Warzones are left without relief. </p><p>Not since the aftermath of the Omnic Crisis has the world felt so lost. </p><p>Joel Morricone thinks about the world a lot. But not tonight.</p><p>Tonight, he only thinks about why his drink is taking so long.</p>
<hr/><p>It’s New Years Eve, somewhere out in Nevada. <s>Joel Morricone</s> Jesse McCree sits at a bar, Peacekeeper tucked away in his belt, and orders a beer. He tells himself to pace it. He needs to be focused tonight in case anyone recognizes him. He takes a sip while side-eyeing the patron sitting at the stool next to him. Poor fellow, the older man clearly has had one too many, as seen by the three empty shot glasses next to him, and is passed out on the bar’s cool, marble surface. A small line of drool leaks out of the man’s mouth. </p><p>McCree can’t help himself. He reaches his hand over and shakes the man’s shoulder. </p><p>“C’mon partner, up and at ‘em.”</p><p>He expects the man to be a heavy sleeper. He expects groans and maybe a struggle to lift his head. What he <i>doesn’t</i> expect is for the man to jolt up at lightspeed from his touch alone. The man’s eyes open wide and he darts his head around wildly with a deep gasp. McCree retracts when the man’s arms flail around in confusion. </p><p>“Woah, easy—”</p><p>The man’s arms knock over one of the shot glasses. It falls onto its side and starts rolling off the counter. McCree attempts to catch it, but it slips from his fingers and crashes onto the floor. </p><p>The glass breaks upon impact, making a loud shattering noise. </p><p>
  <i>“Everyone get back!” She exclaimed to the lab techs huddling behind the counters and examination tables.</i>
</p><p>It’s so loud. </p><p>
  <i>She shouted over the blaring alarm, “Stay down, stay down—!”</i>
</p><p><i>Something was thrown in. It attached itself to the ground before he could even run towards it. A countdown sped to zero. Every window and test tube in the lab shattered. </i> </p><p>So loud. </p><p>
  <i>“MINA!” </i>
</p><p>So loud. </p><p>
  <i>There was smoke everywhere. He could barely see his own hands. His ears painfully rang. He crawled forward despite the shards of glass and rubble piercing at his skin. Every few seconds he would have to cough in order to catch his breath. </i>
</p><p>Soloudsoloudsoloudsoloudsoloudsoloud…</p><p>
  <i>“Mina, where are you?!” he cried out as loudly as he could, even with the smoke irritating his throat. The flames only grew in size and the world was growing more and more hazy, “MINA!” </i>
</p><p>“What’s wrong with you?” a voice mutters. </p><p>Now it’s McCree’s turn to jolt himself back to consciousness. His breath is shuddering, his one hand grips to the counter for dear life. The drunk man, still unbalanced despite being awake now, looks at him with a raised eyebrow. On the floor near them, an employee of the bar has paused in brushing the glass shards into a dustpan to look up at him. </p><p>“Are you alright, sir?” she asks. </p><p>He looks at her. It takes him a moment before he can twist his lips into a convincing smile and tell her he’s fine. She gives him a polite nod and stands back up to walk towards the trash can. The glass shards bounce and jingle slightly in the dustpan as she does. The older man turns his gaze away from McCree and starts nodding off again. </p><p>McCree looks back to the glass of beer. He grabs it with trembling hands. </p><p>Maybe a few more sips wouldn’t hurt.</p>
<hr/><p>Valentine’s Day. A bar in California. The counter is full of couples and friend groups out tonight, so he gets a corner booth table and orders mulled wine. While the Southern California air always seems to be locked in an eternal state between late spring and summertime, he’s grateful to have something warm to drink. This particular blend of mulled wine includes honey as its sweetener and two cinnamon sticks to give it an extra boost of flavor. The waiter who served him earlier mentioned how it was their drink of the day and a popular choice among the regulars. </p><p>McCree takes another sip, letting the hot liquid run down his throat and warming his whole body. He can already feel his face turning red with each gulp. He should really take it slower, whispers the voice in the back of his head. But it’s a holiday tonight, isn’t it? A holiday about love. And if he didn’t have a person to love tonight well...there wasn’t anything wrong with treating himself to something nice, right? Self-love. Sure. That’s it. </p><p>There’s an on-the-wall holoscreen display near his booth. Currently, it’s tuned in to Atlas News, a daily report droning on. But Jesse can barely hear it over the sounds of the bar’s customers enjoying their night out. </p><p>At a nearby table, a group of friends holds a toast. They all raise their champagne glasses and clink their tips together while their laughter fills the area. </p><p>
  <i>“Cheers!” they said in unison, their cups clinked together.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>McCree took his first sip. It was a drink called teh tarik, according to Liao, a combination of a strong black tea brew blended with condensed milk. He let the filling, warm beverage linger to appreciate each second of it before saying, “I’m really flattered, but you didn’t need to do all this for me, doc.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Nonsense,” said Liao after taking a sip of her own, “we need to celebrate! Project Echo has entered its final phases. If everything goes well in the next few months, she’ll finally be allowed on real field missions with Overwatch. We could be experiencing the greatest evolution of AI technology in our lives! And I couldn’t have done it without you, Jesse.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Hey now, I can’t take any credit for that,” he said, “you’re the brains behind the operation. I’m just your bodyguard.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Liao put a hand on his shoulder, “You’re cutting yourself short, McCree. You keep us safe so we can continue our work. And besides, you’ve been a wonderful friend to both Echo and me. You deserve to celebrate as much as we do.”</i>
</p><p><i>She turned to look over a nearby examination table, “Isn’t that right, Echo—Echo? What are you doing over there?”</i> </p><p>
  <i>McCree turned. Echo was seated upon the table, where he usually found her when he arrived for his guard duties in recent days. But she wasn’t simply sitting and looking around, rather, she was focused heavily on something. Her hands were clenched together, a blue hard-light emanating in-between her fingers.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“One moment, Dr. Liao!” said Echo without removing her gaze from her hands. She then muttered, “I need to make sure the texture is accurate.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Liao made her way over and crouched over slightly to get a better look.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Are you making something?” Liao asked curiously. “I told you, you don’t need to practice your weapon formation today. It’s a day off.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Echo shook her head, “Almost...I’ve got it!”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>She lifted her hands up and presented her prize to the both of them. She’d created a hovering, hard-light three-dimensional model of a cup full of a beverage. Specifically, one that matched the silhouette of the teh tarik drinks they’d been sharing. She even added the bubbling texture of the drink’s surface. Echo moved her right hand to grip the “cup’s” handle and held it out to Liao.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>McCree couldn’t help but smile, “Excellent craftsmanship, darlin’.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“May I,” asked Echo, “‘share a toast’ with you two?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Liao was grinning ear to ear. She placed her free hand onto her chest and gripped her lab coat tightly. McCree noticed tiny pinpricks of joyful tears beginning to form in the scientist’s eyes.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Oh Echo, of course you can,” Liao spoke, her voice much softer and ever the tiniest bit choked up. She quickly wiped at her eyes before looking over her shoulder at McCree, “Jesse, won’t you join us?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I’d be delighted,” said McCree with a chuckle.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He joined Liao at her side, the three of them held up their cups.</i>
</p><p><i>Echo beamed, “Cheers!”</i> </p><p>
  <i>“Cheers,” Liao and McCree replied in unison.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Clink!</i>
</p><p>“Yesterday, authorities spoke on the matter during a press conference in Grand Junction,” the Atlas News report is somewhat audible to McCree’s ears, now that most of the tables settled down when their food arrived. Though the bar is still filled with aimless chatter that blocks huge chunks of commentary of the news anchors. He listens a bit more closely and picks up what he can.</p><p>“—founder and president of Helix Security International assured residents that Helix’s repurposing of Watchpoint Grand Mesa would not in any way disrupt local life significantly, responding to critics’ concerns that Helix’s presence would draw back in crowds that once traveled to visit Watchpoint Grand Mesa. According to him, Helix will not be allowing visitors into the Watchpoint as Overwatch once did, and that the base will only be used for company operations. Citizens of Grand Junction appear to be responding mostly positively towards this decision, but others share their concerns for safety, as the facility will also be used to house weaponry used by Helix agents—”</p><p>
  <i>“After that stunt you pulled yesterday,” said Reyes when they reached the panel of the lab’s door, “consider yourself lucky they’re letting you within ten feet of any sort of weapon—”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>McCree cut him off, “She’s not a weapon.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“...Sorry.”</i>
</p><p>His grip on his cup tightens. </p><p>
  <i>“You get ten minutes,” Reyes then said with a heavy sigh. He pulled out an all-access drive and slipped it through the panel, the door unlocked with a large click. He could already sense McCree’s dismayed expression and added on, “That’s all I could get you.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“This is bullshit, Gabe,” McCree said under his breath, “you know it is.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Reyes hardened his gaze, “There’s nothing we can do, Jesse. Our hands are tied.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Oh,” McCree shot back as the door opened. He stepped forward and pushed past his commander, “that’s rich, coming from you.”</i>
</p><p>McCree abandons the straw, instead drinking the mulled wine directly from the cup. The lights of the bar’s ceiling start to blur ever so slightly. </p><p>
  <i>“Hello Jesse,” Echo greeted him. She was seated at her charging port. Long strands of ribbon-like hard-light were wrapped around behind her, attached to her limbs and her wings that were folded as if to shield her. Her hands had been crossed over her center in a similar manner to the position she took when in stasis, but they fell to her lap upon his entrance into the lab.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He smiled at her, warmly, as he always did, “Hi partner.”</i>
</p><p><i>She smiled back, “They let you come see me?”</i> </p><p><i>“I can’t stay long,” McCree explained, pulling over a nearby stool so that he could sit in front of her, “but yeah.”</i> </p><p>
  <i>“I’m glad you’re here,” said Echo. She reached out her and lightly ran it against his left arm, stopping her fingertips at the wrist area, which was wrapped in bandages covering a splint, “I was worried about you yesterday. You sounded like you were in a considerable amount of pain.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to worry you. I’m okay,” his smile grew, but in a way that did not meet his eyes, “this is nothing.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Echo’s own smile faltered, “But you did it for my sake.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>McCree lowered his head. He said nothing, allowing Echo to continue.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“They restrained you, didn’t they?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“...Yeah, they did.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Echo pulled away from his arm and moved to his hand. She interlaced her fingers with his own, looked up, and met his sad eyes.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“This is goodbye, isn’t it?” she said.</i>
</p><p><i>He forced down a lump in his throat and barely managed to get out, “For now.”</i> </p><p><i>“For now?” questioned Echo. “They called it quarantine. Indefinite quarantine. That seems to imply a permanent deactivation status. I don’t think ‘For now’ is accurate.”</i> </p><p>
  <i>McCree shook his head, “It is, Echo. Because we’ll see each other again. I promise.” </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“A promise,” Echo repeated. “Dr. Liao said that’s one of the greatest acts of trust a person can make.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>She took her second hand and cupped it over his palm. McCree felt something small and smooth fall onto the fabric of his glove. When he pulled away, he saw it. A white chip of some sort, with a tiny blue light glowing at him. He immediately looked up to her face once again and saw a noticeable absence of the smooth, white metal that covered most of her body in one area on her chin. Dark grey metal and light blue wiring could be seen. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it, speechless.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Then promise me something else too,” Echo whispered as she leaned forward and gently caressed his cheek. “Take care of yourself until then, cowboy.”</i>
</p><p>He slams the cup down on the table’s wooden surface after the last drop of the mulled wine is gone. After wiping his lips off with his gloved hand, he waves the waiter back over and asks for a refill. He can no longer bother to listen to the Atlas News report, nor the ambiance of celebration in the background of the bar. </p><p>Self love, he tells himself. Self love.</p><p>Liar, scoffs the voice in the back of his head. It reminds him how terrible he is at keeping his promises until he muffles it with another drink.</p>
<hr/><p>Mother’s Day. A bar in Arizona. He orders vodka and immediately regrets it. Not because he’s broken his goal of limiting himself to one drink per week, no he stopped keeping track of that weeks ago, but because it tastes awful. It tastes like briny, spicy water. No bite to it at all. </p><p>But, ah well, it’s here. And he sure as hell doesn’t feel like ordering something else, or asking the bartender to mix it in with juice or something. No need to draw anymore attention to himself.  </p><p>Down the hatch. </p><p>McCree remembers Ana. There are many people he wishes he could forget, but doesn’t. There are fewer people he wants to remember, but slowly feels their memory drifting each day. Ana is one of those. He wishes he’d brought more photos when he left Overwatch. It would be so much easier to rely on a photo to remember her face clearly than on his own memories. Maybe it’s all the drinks, or simply the passage of time itself, but those days they shared together felt like they were disappearing from his mind. Slowly. As if they were a boulder that spent years in the desert, steadily chipping away into grains of sand. </p><p>He shuts his eyes and tries to picture her face. He grasps onto the first memory that comes to him. </p><p>
  <i>He was seventeen (or maybe eighteen? Hell if he could remember) at the time, about ten months into his recruitment. A training session with Captain Amari had accidentally been scheduled on the same day she’d planned a mother-daughter day with Fareeha. To compensate, Ana decided to let McCree tag along with them on their trip into the city of Geneva, cancelling their session and declaring it a day off for him. He’d expected Fareeha to be annoyed at his intrusion on her time with her already busy mother, but surprisingly, she was far more excited to have him than she would’ve been to only have her mom.</i>
</p><p><i>Throughout the day, they’d spent most of their time strolling the streets and popping into whatever shop or attraction caught their interest. Mostly Fareeha’s, she was twelve at the time, in her tween years. So while she would often reject her mom’s suggestions for activities on account of them being “for babies,” she still made them stop at a Pachimari-themed arcade and challenged Jesse to beat her high score at a basketball hoop machine. And she still gravitated towards t-shirts with her favorite cartoon characters on them while at a clothing store.</i> </p><p>
  <i>They were now walking together on that cold, winter day. All three were bundled up in thick jackets and long scarves, enough warmth to shield them from the light snowfall that sprinkled over the city. After the hours of shopping and sight-seeing, they’d decided to find somewhere to stop for lunch. Ana and McCree were next to each other, while Fareeha led the way a few feet ahead.</i>
</p><p>He doesn’t remember how that conversation they shared started, only where it went. </p><p>
  <i>“Thanks for being so good to Fareeha,” said Ana to him, watching her daughter walk briskly ahead of them, “she looks up to you, you know.”</i>
</p><p><i>McCree raised an eyebrow, “Most people would consider that a bad thing.”</i> </p><p>
  <i>“Well, those people can shush,” Ana said with a smile as she patted his shoulder, “because I certainly don’t.”</i>
</p><p>The memory is fading. Try as he might, he can’t remember what happened next, what Ana told him later. He can’t even remember where they ended up going for food. He digs further, desperate, for any memory of Ana he can think fondly of. </p><p>But when her name echoes in the fog of his memory…</p><p>
  <i>“Where’s Ana?”</i>
</p><p>It’s not a fond memory that emerges from the mist.</p><p>
  <i>“I…” Jack Morrison stuttered out as he emerged from the dropship.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Reyes and McCree awaited him in the hangar. It was the first time McCree had ever seen the Strike Commander look so pale. He was barely even walking, more like stumbling onto the hangar floor. A few of the agents that weren’t escorting the rescued hostages out of the room had rushed to his side and helped him over to a nearby crate. Reyes met him there and grabbed the man by his shoulders.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Jack,” Reyes raised his voice slightly, “where’s Ana?”</i>
</p><p>No. </p><p>
  <i>Morrison held his head in his hand, “I didn’t—I told her to disengage! She turned her comm off, I…”</i>
</p><p>Not this memory. </p><p>
  <i>“Jack, what are you talking about? Jack! Pull yourself together!”</i>
</p><p>Not this one.</p><p><i>Reyes brought him into his office merely a day later. He gave McCree one task, and one task only. Fly to Poland. Find her. If anyone asked around base, he was on vacation.</i> </p><p>Stop. </p><p>
  <i>McCree was in Poland for three agonizing weeks. There was no sign of her anywhere, not a trace left behind. He wandered into every hiding spot imaginable around the area where they’d lost her. He questioned locals, blended himself in at group gatherings of all sorts. But to no avail. There were no leads. Anything close to that was merely a dead end.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He failed.</i>
</p><p>Stop. </p><p><i>He was the one to tell her. Reyes and Morrison agreed it would be better that way.</i> </p><p>
  <i>“Fareeha, I’m sorry,” McCree said to her on the holo-video call. She was sitting at a small, foldable table at her barrack in Cairo. Her face was unreadable, she refused to look him in the eyes. He could only hold back his own tears as he repeated, “I’m so sorry.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Finally, she spoke, shaking her head, “Don’t apologize. There wasn’t anything you could do.”</i>
</p><p>STOP. </p><p>The awful taste of vodka doesn’t bother him anymore. He chugs it down as if it were medicine. He doesn’t fear forgetting at this moment. Forgetting is blissful now. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>Thanksgiving. A bar in Texas. He orders bourbon with ice. </p><p>He takes a sip. </p><p>
  <i>Reyes called him in one day, dismissing the guards standing by his office door. As he took a seat, McCree noticed the soundproofing hard-light barriers Reyes had set up around the walls of his office, one that had already lacked windows or large air vents of any sort. They needed to talk. It was something important, Reyes had said. Something that could only be spoken about between them, he said.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Clearly,” McCree deadpanned.</i>
</p><p>He takes a longer sip. </p><p>
  <i>Reyes folded his arms and leaned them on his desk, “Jesse, I know...things between us haven’t been great. But right now, I need you.”</i>
</p><p>
 Down the hatch. Down the drain.
</p><p>(The memories skip around, muting the unimportant bits.) </p><p>
  <i>“I need to know that no matter what happens, you’re on my side. Because I can’t do this without someone I can trust, Jesse.”</i>
</p><p>Drown it out. </p><p>
  <i>“Please.”</i>
</p><p>Drown it all away. </p><p>
  <i>“You need someone you can trust,” McCree shot back with a fury in his voice, “but you won’t even tell me what you’re planning without being vague about it? Give me a goddamn break, Gabriel.” He rose up from his chair and stared down at his commander, “You don’t trust me, you don’t trust <b>anyone</b>. You’re just scared!”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Scared?” Reyes’s entire expression tensed, “Don’t you dare. I’ve done things that no one in this damn place had the guts to do. I’ve always done what needed to be—”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“God, shut the hell up, will you?” McCree cut him off, “I’ve heard it all before. You’re only proving my point. You can’t trust anyone but yourself, so you don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks about your actions. Because you’re always right. That’s how it is with you.”</i>
</p><p>Damn bourbon, McCree thinks, get to work already. </p><p>
  <i>“...You know what, Jesse? You’re right. Let’s have a talk about trust.”</i>
</p><p><i>Without breaking eye contact from McCree, his hand shifted to the top drawer at his desk and opened it up. It returned into sight clenched into a fist, holding something small. He smacked his hand down on the desk. He opened it up to let the object fall onto the desk. Like how the curtains to a tragedy rise up to reveal the fallen hero succumbing to his hubris, Reyes’s fingers lifted up to reveal Echo’s chip lying face up.</i> </p><p>
  <i>“Mind explaining this to me?”</i>
</p><p><i>All calm broke. In came the storm. McCree lunged forward. Reyes swiped the chip back up with perfect reflex as McCree’s upper body crashed into the desk.</i> </p><p><i>“Give it back!” McCree shouted, standing back up.</i> </p><p>
  <i>Reyes held it away from him, keeping his free arm up to push McCree back when he tried to lunge again, as he exclaimed angrily, “What was your plan here, Jesse?! Fly back to the States, steal a highly secured quarantined weapon, and then ride off into the sunset?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Goddamn bastard!” McCree yelled over him, arm stretching out painfully to reach for the chip as he thrashed against Reyes’ strength, “You stole that from my apartment, didn’t you?!”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You stole it first!”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“She <b>gave</b> it to me!”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Reyes grit his teeth, frustrated, still keeping away the chip, “You were willing to get your name put right back on a wanted poster and throw away everything you’ve worked for here! And you still have the guts to lecture me about trust?! After everything I’ve done for you!”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“FUCK YOU!”</i>
</p><p>McCree hunches over on the bar stool. His head aches. When will the stupid drink kick in? </p><p>
  <i>It escalated. It escalated horribly, and with the room as soundproof as it was, there was no one to barge in and yank them apart this time. This time, everything was released. Every pent-up list of aggressions, every insult, every direction their fists were thrown. Everything.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>But even this fight had its end. Neither man was injured too badly. The worst were bruises and cuts, though most of them were only from the two men crashing into various items in the room as they fought for the chip. Reyes came out on top in terms of physical strength. He always did. And this time, Reyes had a prize from this fight that wasn’t merely an ego boost. When he could tell McCree was out of fire, he slowly tucked the chip back away into the desk drawer, knowing that the younger man wasn’t stupid enough to try again.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>McCree was panting after the short-lived brawl, but in-between long breaths, he managed to say, “You were right about one thing, Reyes. I don’t trust you. Not anymore.” With a grunt and heaving of his body off the floor, McCree headed towards the exit, “You’re on your own.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“McCree wait—,” thinking back on it, McCree swore Reyes sounded remorseful, but in that moment, he didn’t care.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He didn’t turn around.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“McCree!”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He kept walking.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Jesse, stop! That’s an order!”</i>
</p><p><i>He waved his hand up with a certain finger gesture.</i> </p><p>
  <i>“JESSE!”</i>
</p><p><i>He then heard the last seething words from Reyes.</i> </p><p>
  <i>“...damn ingrate.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He slammed the door behind him.</i>
</p><p>“Hey buddy,” asks a concerned patron sitting two stools away from him, “you okay?” </p><p>McCree turns to look at them. But words don’t come out. Instead, he swings the other direction and stumbles out of his seat, despite the panicked calls after him by the not-as-drunk customers and employees around him, a hand over his mouth. </p><p>He’s going to hurl.</p>
<hr/><p>The memories still come. They always do before the alcohol kicks in. He starts drinking before they can linger for too long. These days, they aren’t so vivid anymore. Now they only come in short, blurry flashes. Much easier to numb. </p><p>At a bar located in Dorado, Mexico, Jesse McCree orders hard whiskey. The bartender lets him pour it out from the bottle. It’s enough to knock him out for a good few hours before he feels himself being shaken awake.</p><p>McCree groggily raises his now aching head from the wooden bar’s surface. The place is dimmer, most of the lights have been turned off. The bartender is standing near him, irritated, and has a firm grip on his shoulder. He asks McCree to leave. It’s Christmas Eve. He has grandkids waiting for him to get home and it’s already past closing time. </p><p>McCree apologizes and then asks how much he owes the elderly man. The bartender says it’s already been covered by his girlfriend and she’s waiting outside for him. Go home. Merry Christmas. </p><p>McCree doesn’t have a girlfriend. But he walks outside to meet her anyway. </p><p>A woman, a few years younger than him, waits by the door. The first thing he notices about her is her hair, flipped to the side with purple highlights. The shade of purple matches the color of the soft glow emanating from the cybernetic graft implanted on the bare side of her scalp. She looks up at him with a smile that McCree knows all too well. A smile that someone only gives when they know you have something they want. </p><p>He decides to hear her out. For now. </p><p>“Feliz Navidad, McCree.” she says. She makes a swiping motion with her right hand. A holoscreen materializes at her fingertips. And in her left hand, she holds something small in-between her middle and index finger. A white chip with a tiny, light blue glow. “Once you’re sober, let’s have a nice, long talk.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I had to Google so many different types of alcoholic drinks for this fic. And I don’t even like to drink, this is just what I put myself through for my favorite cowboy. Can’t wait for Google to give me personalized ads from wine companies in the future. :’D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. First Kiss (Emilena/Lemon Tea)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy Valentine's Day! I found a <a href="https://blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms.tumblr.com/post/159975698721/">list of kiss prompts on Tumblr</a> and thought it would be fun to use a number generator. The first one I got was:</p>
<p>Number 38: Awkward Teenage Kiss</p>
<p>So I decided to do some pre-Overwatch childhood sweetheart fluff with Tracer and Emily! Enjoy the aftermath of their first date and their awkward first kiss. It's a bit messy but I wanted to aim for something short and sweet this time around! I might go back and revise this later, but for now, I hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Seventeen-year-old Lena Oxton pulled her motorcycle up against the cobblestone sidewalk. She slowed it down and parked in front of a Dulwich townhouse. It was a quaint little place, like something you’d see in a London postcard or an old children’s book, with painted blue shutters and a flower box in each window. That warm, summer night, Lena saw every flower box was blooming with the brightest red roses. A nearby streetlamp became the dancefloor for a small swarm of moths, their shadows bouncing around Lena’s motorcycle. </p>
<p>She lifted her helmet off and looked over her shoulder. She smiled at her passenger, slowly doing the same with her own helmet. </p>
<p>“Hope the ride wasn’t too bumpy, luv,” said Lena. </p>
<p>Long, full locks of red hair tumbled out from the helmet and messily landed on the shoulders of the passenger, while her sweet, freckled face grinned back at Lena. </p>
<p>Emily. She was newer in town, having arrived at the start of the new term. They were in the same grade and the same class. And, as if fate itself willed it, they were also seated right next to each other. Their teacher had the thought that seating the quieter, more reserved Emily next to Lena would stop the latter from chatting too much during class. She was wrong. All it took was an accidental glance at Emily’s doodles in her notebook one day for Lena to make conversation with her, and soon the two of them started every morning with a friendly chat. </p>
<p>It was hard for Lena <i>not</i> to gravitate towards Emily. Aside from the pretty face, she had the cutest laugh and a hidden, fiery passion that was brought out the moment you mentioned anything related to photography and journalism. Lena would spend all day listening to Emily’s long explanations of the role of photography in history or the subtle differences between camera types if she could.</p>
<p>“You drive really fast,” Emily handed the helmet to Lena and slowly climbed off the bike. She then nervously added on, “Um, but not in a bad way! I had fun! Never been on a motorcycle before.” </p>
<p>“Sorry about that,” said Lena with a sheepish smile, “it can be a bit much for a newbie.” </p>
<p>Emily shook her head, “That’s alright. I can get used to it. I might need to for next time.” </p>
<p>Lena stopped, “Next time?” </p>
<p>“Oh, well,” Emily fiddled with her backpack’s straps while looking at the ground, “I mean, I figured...you’d maybe want to go out again?” </p>
<p>It took a few extra seconds for Lena to process those words. Again? Go out? Go. Out. Again. Again. As in another time. (Oh god, why was her face so warm?) Another time with her—</p>
<p>“Yes!” Lena finally blurted out. She cleared her throat and regained her composure, “Yeah, sure! Let’s, um, do this again sometime.” </p>
<p>Emily nodded, “Okay! I’ll...see you at school tomorrow!”</p>
<p>“See you then!” </p>
<p>Emily suddenly leaned forward. Lena hadn’t been expecting it, and nearly tumbled off her bike when she felt the other girl’s lips on her cheek. It was quick and done in a second, but to Lena, whose face was now the same shade as the nearby roses, time had slowed down. When Emily retracted, she didn’t say a word. She, red in the face too, had her eyes locked down at her feet. </p>
<p>“Um—” Lena started to say, hoping fate would let the right words come out again. </p>
<p>“Rightokaybyeseeyoulater!” Emily squeaked out before turning and sprinting towards her front door. It closed with a loud slam. </p>
<p>Lena was left there on her motorcycle stunned. She raised a hand to the kissed cheek and held it there for sometime. </p>
<p>Then she placed her helmet on and sped off as fast as she could, screaming out loud with the most joy she’d ever felt in her life so far.</p>
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